


Fast Times In Chicago Illinois

by alxmariejackles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Crude Humor, Drinking, Drugs, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Gang Violence, Gangs, Gay Bashing, Gay converstion, Graphic Description, Greasers, Kissing, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Minor Character Death, Minor slow build, Non-Graphic Smut, Objectification, Sadism, Segregation, Sexual Tension, Swearing, The Outsiders based, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3546059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alxmariejackles/pseuds/alxmariejackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is loosely based around the book The Outsiders, however the plot will not follow that story line. You do not need to read or watch the book or movie to follow the story, but I would highly recommend it anyway because the story is amazing!</p><p>Set in the mid 1960s, the city of Chicago Illinois is split in half by two prominent gangs: The greasers, and the Socials. Ian and Mickey struggle with their relationship with many road blocks to overcome, along with the constant tension between the two boy's factions, always pitting them against each other. In a time where everyone is white and beautiful, where do the outsiders stand?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ol' Chicago

**Author's Note:**

> Terms to know for this chapter:  
> Social (Soc)- As stated in the book and movie, "White trash with Mustangs and Madras shirts" or in our case, the rich kids.  
> Greaser- A person, male or female, who is fascinated with, interested in, embodies or eminates style and/or fashion of the rebellious American youth of the 1950's and early 60's  
> Corvair- Chevrolet car built from 1960-1969.

When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: the newly released Elvis album and the journey home. 

It was hot as balls outside, you could see the heat waves radiate off the sidewalk. Didn't even get to see a damn movie because of my broke ass lifestyle, only loitered around the darkened, and very well air-conditioned, movie theatre.

I was having a swell time too if it weren't for security who told me to bump on ‘outta there. I didn't honestly have a doubt in my mind I woulda gotten caught, I stuck out like a neon sign ‘round here. 

This was north side, and I was a greaser. Greasers ain’t tolerated in north side. Judgmental sons of bitches they were, splittin’ the town in half through the segregation of social classes. 

So I was dirt poor, couldn't hold down a job, and maybe wore a little too much grease in my hair, it ain’t gotta be like this. Nah, ‘course it does. That’s how the world keeps spinning on its axis. Greasers and Socs don’t get along, and north side’s crawlin’ with the maggots. 

I began my way back to south side, where white trash like me belong, kicking a small rock along the way. A good half hour later, a heavy revving came up from behind, getting increasingly louder. A red Chevrolet Corvair pulled up next to me, the windows rolled down as the Socs inside hooted and hollered various forms of street harassment.

“Ey, grease! Hows ‘bout I shove ya head in my car’s oil tank? Give your hair a bit of a fix-me-up?” one jeered. 

I narrowed my eyes and sneered, trying to look intimating because if they’d be having a bad day and get ‘outta that car- I’m fucked. 

I was a good fighter in all, a fine contender in rumbles and one on one street fights, but there were a good four Socs in that car. They may be the preppy, well groomed and tight assed, but they had some street smarts too believe it or not.

“What’s the matter scum? Homeless shelter run out of room?” another one yelled, throwing an empty beer bottle in my direction. 

I ducked just in time for it to hit the wooden fence adjacent to me and shatter with a horrifying crack! I glued my eyes in front of me, balling my fists at my sides to avoid lashing out; I ain’t fixin’ on biting off more than I can chew.

Maybe if I ignored them they’d just fuckin’ go away. That’s how serious I am at voiding these folk, you’ll never see a Milkovich blatantly ignore someone obviously tryin’ to pick a fight. 

But they didn't leave. 

In fact, they began swerving closer to the curb, so close one of them could reach out and touch me. Maybe even haul me into the car. 

I began to sweat nervously, and picked up my pace into a steady jog, my eyes darting around, scanning for a way out.

The entrance to a nearby break in the fence that lead to a crossroads real close to my own home soon appeared, and I sprinted through the opening.

I thought I’d lost the Covair full of Socs, and I did for a second, the entrance to the crossroads was far too narrow. 

I stood in the middle of the intersection, the white picket fences of north side were replaced with chain link, and the houses had transformed into one stories, with peeling paint and broken trash cans laying in the street, garbage was scattered everywhere. 

I leaned over, resting my weight on my knees as I heaved and panted. Damn, I smoked too much to be getting into mix-ups with Socs.

I looked every direction, so far the coast was clear. I coughed and spit some mucus out onto the street, wiping my brow and straightening up. I huffed a chuckle of relief, only to be almost mowed down by a red Corvair. I jumped off the side, the extra wind force of the car causing me to go scrambling across the concrete.

“Holy, fuck!” I exclaimed under my breath. 

My heart beat a thousand miles an hour, adrenaline coursing through my veins from the near death experience. 

The car made a sharp U-turn, its tires screeching across the ground. I’ve never ran faster. The car had ten times the speed on me, and it easily surpassed me and swerved across the road horizontally, cutting off my path. 

The Socs got out and I brought up my fists- might as well try. 

Two surged forward and grabbed hold of me, but before doing so I had caused some damage. 

I felt my fist connect with a jaw, a stomach, I gave a few good scratches to some arms and eyes. 

However, as the four on one went they managed to manhandle me to the ground, a guy in a blue polo and khakis straddled me, flicking out his switch. 

He teasingly ran it across my face, down my neck and across my chest as the others snickered. 

I cringed as he leaned in close to my face, his putrid breath reeked of tobacco. I jerked my arms, but two Soc’s had them pinned to the street, their knees were shoved into the muscle and fuck-it hurt. 

I adverted my eyes from the medium-sized blonde, as well as his winking knife. I glanced at the other to faces, who loomed over me as well, eager to appease their hate crimes. But- wait. Where’s the fourth one?

“Your filthy, grease,” the blonde snarled, “maybe I should give ya a bath in your own blood?”

“Rodger cut it out,” a rich voice boomed overhead, “he ain’t done nothing to you.” Telling that none of the Socs looming above me mouth’s moved at that moment, I’d take it that was the fourth Soc. And coming to my defense? Did he want to be beat? 

The boy on top of me, Rodger I guess, looked upward and huffed, agitated by the Soc’s attempt at a rescue, but refusing to stop. I decide to take matters into my own hands.

“Get off me, Soc, I ain’t on your turf.”

“Oh yea? But ya reek a mile away,” he cackled back, earning a collective laugh from the other two boys. 

That’s when I spat straight into Rodger’s face. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and pressed the blade of the switch even harder than where it was already placed idly at the side of my neck, an inch below my ear.

He dragged the blade across the flesh and I felt the skin split open, hot blood dribbled down my neck. 

I cried out and thrashed, the weight of Rodger was suddenly yanked off as the other Socs on my arms were.

I took in the faces of Iggy and Tony on either side of me, Jamie and two other street buddies came running from to the right at the promise of a fight. Who the fuck lifted Rodger? 

The Socs scrambled back into the Corvair, Iggy and Tony were pressed against the metal, grabbing and punching at the Socs inside. The Corvair backed up and quickly sped off just as Jamie threw a brick at its tail end. 

“You a’ight there Mick?” Iggy locked his forearms under my armpits to haul me to my feet. 

“Motherfucking Socs!” Tony yelled.

“Tony come on we gotta get Mickey home,” Iggy wrapped my arm around his shoulders, letting me lean on his weight. 

I was slightly shaking, from fear and a rush, because I was damn sure I was gonna die. Tony rushed over and slung my other arm around his shoulders, and we started to stumble down the street towards the Milkovich house.


	2. Much Prejudice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms to know for this chapter:  
> Fuzz- The police  
> Chew- Chewing tobacco  
> Rumble- A large, no-holds barred fight between groups of people; a gang fight

“Pull over Rodger!” I shout in Rodger’s ear as he sped down the road and jerked the wheel with reckless abandon to avoid the passing cars.

“Yea man, you're gonna get the fuzz tailing our ass!” Brent argued from the passenger side, his bone straight brown hair whipped wildly in the wind as the window was rolled all the way down.

“Both of you shut up! Jesus Christ!” Rodger screamed.

“Brent, take the wheel,” I growled. The hell do I even hang out with these asses?

“Wha-“ Brent started to question, but was immediately interrupted as I had grabbed the collar of Rodger’s Polo, yanking his head back, making Rodger loose his grip on the wheel, and therefore lose control of the car. 

Brent shot forward and grasped the wheel, holding it in place to steady the car and dodge a couple possible crashes. I leaned in real close to Rodger’s ear as I lowered my voice:

“Pull the fucking car over.”

“Man let me go before I crash my goddamn Chevy,” Rodger barked. I released him and he snapped forward, regaining his grip on the wheel as he searched for an appropriate place to pull over. 

“Damn Ian, what’s got your panties in a wad?” Joe asked, shoving a wad of chew in between his gums. I rolled my eyes and sat back on the perfectly pressed brown leather seat. What’s got my panties in a wad?

“I don’t know, _Joe_ , assaulting people just for shits and giggles ‘cause they got greasy hair and soiled clothes really grinds my gears.”

The Corvair eased to a stop in a carpool drop off zone near some supermarket in north side.

“Whatever Man, go home and smoke one,” Joe snipped back. I yanked open the car door and swung my legs out, slamming the door behind me. Rodger leaned out of the driver’s window, a smug grin on his face.

“Hey man, you know where to find me once you get that giant stick ‘outta your ass,” he chided before revving the engine and speeding off. What a punk. 

I shoved my hands into my jeans and began to leisurely walk home. Sure it was sweltering hot, but my house wasn't too far and it was much better than staying in that Corvair. 

Don’t get me confused, I dislike greasers. 

They've knocked my brothers and sisters around, hell, knocked me around on a few occasions. 

But I’m not saying that sometimes we don’t deserve it. Sometimes they don’t deserve it. 

That greaser we roughed up today didn't deserve it. I’d never really met him either, just seen him in rumbles and street fights, the occasional robbery too. I kinda wanna see if he’s okay. 

I don’t know exactly what happened; Joe, Brent, and Rodger were crouched around him like a bunch of vultures. 

And whatever they did, I couldn't get his tortured shout out of my head. Rodger must ‘a stuck him with the blade. 

I didn't even notice I had balled my fists inside of my pockets until I felt the hot pain on my palms. And he hadn't done a damn thing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Hey guys you hungry-“ Mandy spun around as I stumbled in with Iggy and Tony. 

Once I had regained my senses, I was able to walk again. My palm was still plastered to the cut at the side of my neck in attempt to cease the bleeding. “What the hell happened?” Mandy shrieked. She rushed over to me as I sat on the couch, kneeling in front of me and prying my hand off of my wound.

“Socials,” Iggy growled. Mandy looked up at me, and raised an eyebrow.

“And what the fuck did you do?”

“I didn't do shit!” I shouted, still flustered. Mandy hummed an understanding, her sharply penciled brows furrowed together as she prodded at the cut.

“I don’t think you need stitches,” she concluded as her pointed nail was jammed straight into the hurt flesh.

“Motherfuck Mandy!” I shouted in pain, protectively holding my hand back over the opening. Mandy’s face contorted and she mumbled a "sorry. . ." before heading into the kitchen, grabbing some remotely clean towels and a bottle of vodka.

“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” she warned once she poured a generous amount of alcohol on the rag and dabbed it onto the wound. She wasn't lying. I gripped the couch and bit my lip as she worked.

“There’s a Drive-In movie ‘morrow night, and I need a date,” Mandy said absently as she pat my gash. “Would you take me? Iggy and Tony are taking their own gals.”

I chuckled, “And what makes you think I wanna go?”

Mandy playfully smacked my shoulder and laughed, taking a swig from the bottle of vodka before passing it off to me.

“Because you don’t fool me Mickey Milkovich,” she grinned. I squeezed my eyes shut and welcomed the oncoming burn of the alcohol because, shit, she’s right. 

Ever since we were little she could read me like an open book. She was the first to know I preferred Ken over Barbie. 

I made her swear to our mother’s grave that she wouldn't tell anyone, and although that seems harsh to a bystander, even at ten I knew the dangers of being a homosexual in this day and age. 

Not only was that suicide in south side terms, but a disgrace to society. Hell, it’s the 1960s, black people ain't even allowed to drink from the same water fountain as white people.

“Fine,” I groaned, and slammed the vodka bottle down on the coffee table. “What the hell? I’ll go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the fairly short chapter and for updating a lot later in the day, my laptop has been on the fritz lately. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Sparks in the Car Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms to know for this Chapter:  
> Kicks (in context from chapter)- shoes.  
> Bounce- to leave a place/situation

The Milkovich household was buzzing with energy, Mandy was taking the hot rollers out of her hair as Iggy waited for his girlfriend, Becca. Tony and his gal, Liz, had fucked off somewhere, probably out procreating in the backyard as per usual. 

Liz was a bit of a slut, and had the personality of a hyena, always cackling at Tony’s racist jokes and pickin’ cat fights with other girls in the middle of a supermarket, pulling hair and baring nails. Becca though, I like her. And I don't say that just 'bout everyone. She was a greasy girl, just like Liz, but she had at least _some_ good morals to her. 

I take it her and Iggy are gettin’ pretty serious, you know, thinkin’ about marriage and shit. I sat on the couch with my feet propped up, mindlessly combing the sides of my greased, jet black hair. I didn't really put much effort into my appearance for a fucking movie, just slicked my hair back, wore jeans that were cuffed up a bit from the bottom and my black Chuck Taylor’s for kicks. 

I also wore a form-fitting white tank underneath my gang’s signature black leather jacket, the name “South Side Pit Vipers" was printed in white ink across the back accompanied by two vipers that were intertwined around the letters, facing each other with their teeth bared. I’d boast we’re the most vicious, badass greaser gang in South Side, but that might be a little bias. Whatever. 

People knew to leave us alone, well, everyone but the Socials of north side, of course. A confident rapping was emitted from the front door, and Iggy stood up from the couch to answer. It was Becca. Iggy pulled her into a hug, and they laughed together at an inside joke they shared as he led her to sit on the other side of the couch.

“Becca!” Mandy gasped and wattled over as best she could with her enormous black pumps. _Good god Mandy,_ I thought as I scanned her outfit. Her legs were constricted in some tight faux leather leggings. Cleavage was playfully peeking out of her tight black top that hung off her shoulders, a red bandanna tied to her neck. I crinkled my nose as a waft of hairspray and perfume viciously attacked my nose as she went over to the couch to hug Becca. 

Tony and Liz just then also stumbled in, Tony still in the process of tightening his belt and Liz smoothing down her overly permed bleached hair. “Okay! Let’s bounce,” Mandy smiled as she clapped her hands together, beginning to usher everyone out of the door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“This Rodger’s?” Lip grunted as he lit a cigarette. We walked down a darkened, but defiantly not vacant, street. Cars zoomed by filled with obnoxious teenagers probably going to the Drive-In. 

It was the ideal place for getting drunk and having a throw down given it was located right smack in the middle of the boundary line between north and south side Chicago. And with the merging of two opposing sides, it’s always interesting to see what happens at the big time Drive-In held every month. “What are we seein’ again?” Lip exhaled the smoke out of his nose, passing the cigarette off to me. I took a long drag to ease my nerves as I replied:

“West Side Story.”

Lip pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, “never thought I’d see a musical.”

“So why are you going?” I questioned, passing him back the cigarette.

“Girls, man, _girls_ ,” he chuckled. We stomped up the concrete steps to Rodger’s house, a couple of muffled yells sounded from inside the house. 

I banged roughly on the door knowing full well the group of Socials were probably a bit tipsy already. A few thumps later, Rodger emerged at the door, a set of car keys dangling in his hand.

“Sup, man,” he smiled and clapped me on the back. I returned the grin and gave him a simple nod before he turned to Lip. “Lip! Aha! It’s been forever man!” he gushed as he went and bumped chests with Lip. I jumped a bit when I heard the loud revving of a car behind me, I turned I noticed it was a white corvette. 

When I whipped my head back to Rodger in search of an explanation, he was inside the house yelling at the other occupants.

“Yo guys! Dan’s here with the wheels!”

Brent and Bob as well as a few other folks in our circle bounded out the door, jumping and shouting in the yard.

“Ian, Lip, how ‘bout you join me with Bob?” Rodger wrapped his arm around my shoulders and lead me over to his beloved Chevy.

“Sure, man,” I laughed. And we soon we were off yelling and honking down the road to the midnight Drive-In.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Iggy and Becca led our group through the streets, giggling and sharing a cigarette. Fuck that, I brought my own pack of Marlboro’s. 

A bit up a hill, the Drive-In was a giant, glowing orb of lights and voices. The chain link fence surrounding the parking lot had just begun and we followed it around to the back of the lot, creeping past the entrance gates and ticket masters. 

We wove though the shriveled, dry, brush to our "discount hole", a long cut in the fence made for fellow poor, or just dirt cheap, folk so they could squeeze by undetected. We could actually afford to pay our way in, it was only a quarter if you didn't have a car, but we all had agreed we weren't gonna start off our Friday night legally. 

Iggy stood at the side of the opening and pried it open, holding it aside to let the rest of us slide in as he brought up the back. Loud music blowing out a few car speakers made the entire scene party-like, the differing music clashed together from the various social classes’ tastes. 

The giant car lot was already filling up fast, some folding chairs were set up but we would normally just bum a seat in some folk’s car. Usually an ally greaser's. We emerged into the lot behind the big ass movie screen already roped to two big wooden poles. Mandy strode over to me, her heels obnoxiously clicking on the pavement, and hooked her hand into the crook of my elbow.

“Come one babe,” she giggled teasingly, “let’s get us a seat.”

I rolled my eyes at how juvenile and incesty that was, but whatever pipes her down and leaves me alone. She led me away from the rest of the group, who were now just dickin’ around with each other. Mandy and I walked in between cars, when she spotted the Switch gang. The Pit Vipers were good buddies with The Switches, I personally didn't care for any of the members, but, if you’re in a gang, its’ friends are allegedly your friends. Allegedly.

“Tommy!” Mandy shouted and I instantly winced, the screech probably bringing half the fuckin’ lot look our way.

“What’s up my girl?” The chuckling group of leather-coated greasers perched on some beat up ol’ white 49 Ford Mercury. The entire thing was a hunk of scrap metal, but to a mechanic, I was instantly drawn to the parts and ways I could possibly fix it up.

“Nothin’ much. . .” Mandy swayed her shoulders in a flirty way, letting go of my arm to hug Tommy. Oh yea, she wanted it. Tommy wasn't much, muscular and tan with some high cheekbones. I guess I could see the appeal.

“ ‘Sup Mick? How ya been?” he asked over Mandy’s shoulder. I shrugged my shoulders and smirked before replying:

“Not legal.”

Tommy threw his head back and bellowing waves of laughter rippled off of him. He always was loud. I've never been able to stand him. So I stood there awkwardly with my hands shoved in my jeans, silently begging Mandy to notice my discomfort. Thank God she still had a few brain cells left.

“Mickey, why don’t you steel us a ‘couple of cokes, will ‘ya?” she smiled. I nodded and silently walked off, making sure to take all the time in the world.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After paying at the gate, Rodger pulled into to the Drive-In, making a few round a ‘bouts before scoring us a spot a few car lines from the screen. He lowered the car’s roof to see out, but I took it as an opportunity to swing over and out of the car.

“Yo, Ian, look for the rest of the gang will ‘ya?" Rodger twisted around in the driver’s seat, looking back at Lip. "You gotta cig Lip?"

“Hell yea, man, when do I not?” Lip retorted, extending his arm out to Rodger, a cigarette protruding from his fingertips.

“Yea, sure thing Rodger,” I called back as I walked away from the car. That was a lie. I really just wanted to explore the unknown territory. All the Drive-Ins I've ever gone too were north side, owned, located, and operated. 

I walked in between cars, catching a few other Socs I recognized from school. 

Up ahead, a couple of Socs in fuckin’ slacks and sweater vests surrounded a girl leaning up against an old Ford Mercury. I shook my head in displeasure at how completely Social these guys looked. 

I had made sure I wore only jeans and a white button-up with some beat-up converse. I've well learned my lesson many times in the past lookin’ like an obvious member of one particular side, because your company may not always smile and make nice conversation. 

This girl was defiantly greasy too, and these Socs were defiantly assholes. 

They got in her space and tried playing with her jet black locks, and she smacked their hands away, as though she was swatting away flies, with one hand as the other held a smoke. I walked up to the guys and raised my eyebrows at their actions, earning me the attention of the Socs and the girl. Holy shit! No, it can't fuckin' be her.

“Y’all got anything better to do than cock block yourselves?” I snapped. The female brought her pale hand up to her blood red lips, an obvious smile in her eyes.

“Fuck off, man,” one of them growled, “come on guys let’s book it from this jackass.”

“Smart idea,” I smiled sarcastically. They glared me down as they walked away, looking for other chicks to harass.

“My knight in shining armor,” the female beamed, taking a drag from her cigarette.

“Oh my god! _Mandy?_ It’s great to see you!” I brought her into a tight hug.

“You too, dork,” she scoffed and grinned shyly after pulling away, uncomfortable with the kindness. 

I remember when we were best friends back in the day when I lived in south side, right before Frank hit the big bucks with his “Milk of the Gods”. Honestly though, it is some great booze for anyone who’s got the stomach for it. That stuff’s got the kick of a bull.

“Who the hell is this?” a rough voice grunted as he rounded the hood of the car. It sounded alarmingly familiar. 

He held a Coca-Cola in each hand. He passed one off to Mandy, before turning around and expertly popping the bottle cap off on the edge of the car window. He had jet black hair, just like Mandy, and was kind’ve short standing next to Mandy in her heels and I. Damn, those jeans fit him real good too. Mandy elbowed him, and he crinkled his face in a _"What?"_ look that made me laugh.

“Mickey, this is my old friend, Ian Gallagher. Ian, this is my brother Mickey,” she introduced. Electric blue eyes darted to meet my deep green ones, his eyes almost glowing orbs in the darkness. I could stare at those all day. Mickey's sharp eyebrows arched in surprise and he smirked.

"Holy shit, _Gallagher?_ As in Gallagher Brewery?" He asked, astounded. I pressed my lips into a thin line and smiled, nodding my head. "Damn. Perks to your dad, man. His shit gets me drunk in five minuets flat."

“You should sit with us, Ian,” Mandy interrupted suddenly, moving to my side as she threw her arm around my shoulders, cocking her head at Mickey. “He keeps the perverts away,” she remarked, bringing up her heel and using that to pop the cap off her own Coke bottle. 

“Sure, whatever,” Mickey shrugged, jumping up on the hood of the white Ford Mercury. 

Where the fuck have I heard that voice?

My train of thought broke as his white tank rode up a bit, exposing a strip of pale flesh on his hip that I itched to mark as mine. The movie screen suddenly flicked to life, illuminating the entire lot in a bright glow. That was the exact moment I noticed the long gash on the side of his neck, just below his ear. A horrible crimson against the boy’s soft white skin.


	4. This Ain't West Side Story

Fuck I’m screwed. If I spoke, Mickey would surely recognize my voice. Contrary to popular belief, greasers ain't that dumb. So how the hell am I gonna get through this Drive-In a mute? 

Mandy and I were laying on the hood of a black Cadillac, Mickey was on the hood of the Ford Mercury, leaning against the windshield. My arm was wrapped around Mandy’s shoulder’s as she snuggled into my left side, we snickered and whispered to each other through out the film. But whenever Mandy was actually paying attention to the movie, I snuck as many glances toward her brother as I possibly could. That boy was a sight I enjoyed seeing. And to my complete shock, Mickey was completely invested in the story. Didn't take his eyes off the screen. Not once. No scoffs. No eye rolls. He stared at the moving projection longingly at the couple, Maria and Tony. 

I shit you not, I saw the corner of his mouth perk up at the way the couple would gaze lovingly at each other. I broke out in a grin, believe it or not, the greasy gang member ached for love. Oh god, what am I doing? The possibility of Mickey even being gay and willing to take the risk of a relationship in this time and age. I chuckled to myself- do greasers have tea with Socs? 

And every time I look at him, that horrible gash is staring right back at me. I shouldn't feel guilty, I spoke up in his defense, but I could’ve fucking helped him. And I didn't. All because I had a reputation and an enormous fucking ego. _Christ_. At this moment, we were a good portion into the movie, Tony and Maria had just shared their first kiss. I felt my mind drift, and imagined planting my lips on the mouth that probably swore worse than a sailor, or spouted political inaccuracies as much as a clock ticks. A lazy smile spread across my face, and I tilted my head to the right slightly to take in Mickey to aid in my fantasy. 

My head jerked a bit when I found those blue orbs staring right back at me. Mickey took his bottom lip in between his front teeth and swiftly moved his head to focus back on the screen. Just to be safe, I moved my head back to stare straight ahead at the sky, and the billions on billions of stars. _I saw that,_ I thought, smirking. I gently nudged Mandy a bit to get her attention, sliding my arm out from under her. 

“Gotta take a leak,” I explained softly.

“But the movie’s almost over,” she complained.

“Yea, and so are my pants if I don’t get to a bush.” Mandy’s smile was a mile wide and her eyes were filled with nostalgia.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Gallagher,”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Great, now I've been caught red-handed makin’ dumb ass dove eyes at the redhead with the sexy ass jaw line. God, I just wanted to get out of here. 

My leg bounced up and down anxiously on the hood of the Mercury until the eventual end of the film. The screen dimmed and the car lot lights flicked on, people clapped and cheered as the credits rolled. I stretched my arms above my head and rolled my shoulders, this car hood was a bitch on my back. Mandy scooted off of the adjacent car hood and sauntered over, a mischievous grin plastered onto her face.

“I can almost feel the sexual tension choking me,” she grins, leaning over her elbows placed on the car.

I huffed and rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “You ain't got a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You and Ian, nimrod! I know you fancy him,” she wiggled her eyebrows.

I scoffed and adverted my eyes. I will never like talking about my gayness with Mandy, of all people. “Keep talkin’ like that and I break every goddamn heel you own.”

“Damn, Mick, you need to get laid.”

I slid off the car, crossing my arms as I faced my potential wing-woman. “I’m going home. Come or not, I don’t really care,” I grunted, spinning on my heel and stalking off towards the discount hole. 

I could feel Mandy’s eyes staring at me as I left.

It wasn't long before I breached the clearing of the discount hole, and to my complete shock, I found I wasn't alone. 

That Gallagher kid was standing in front of some shrub, just turning around as he pulled up his zipper. His hand lingered on his crotch, his eyes scanning me down. 

My teenage horniness rushed over me, and my brain began producing an endless supply of filthy fantasies. Oh my god- I want it. I’m about to keel over with want; they always say virgins get the wettest. 

My eyes flicked back up to the redhead’s, and I found his meeting mine- a silent understanding was made. 

I reached down to fumble with my belt and ripped it out of my pant loops as I made my way past Gallagher and behind the grouping of tall trees. The snapping of twigs behind me lead me to believe the boy was following and I threw my belt to the ground, beginning to work away the button on my jeans.

“Mickey . . . “ he spoke. I froze. I knew that voice. I kept my back turned away towards the thick trunk of a tree directly in front of me.

I spent a few seconds trying to sort out how I felt, an action I am, and always will be, complete shit at. 

Was I angry? I could almost feel the fresh cut on the side of my neck start to pulse and throb, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Holy fuck. 

Am I ashamed? I knew I hated the fact that I didn't put up more of a fight- I practically allowed the Socs to beat me up. No matter how many times I told myself there’s no way I would've even had a fighting chance, it still made me feel weak. I needed some guy to come along and lift Rodger off of me. A complete stranger was the only thing that prevented me from getting skinned alive. I was weak. Just like I am now as I give in to him.

“Just get on me, Gallagher,” I mutter. “A quick fuck. This ain't West Side Story.” I heard Gallagher chuckle behind me as I felt two hands grip my hips. 

I drop my jeans and boxers to the ground and bend over, bracing my arm against the tree trunk as he pushed a finger inside of me. And then another. The slow, drawn out scissoring motion he was making to loosen me up was driving me fucking crazy. 

_Was he teasing me?_ I let out a low growl in my throat and kicked Gallagher's foot to make him hurry the fuck up.

"My god your impatient," he retorted.

Once he began to push inside me, I knew I was gonna be over before it even began. I bit my lip to stifle the groans trying to escape my throat to avoid being heard. 

It wasn't easy- he’s obviously packing lots and has had experience. I was done for in no time at all with him thrusting vigorously, managing to hit into little spot of ecstasy inside me. 

Gallagher came shortly after, pulling out, he stepped back and I heard his zipper being yanked up. I was grabbing my own jeans and securing them round my hips, feeding my belt back through. I gave the ginger a minute to fuck off, and sure enough, when I turned back around, he was nowhere in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated a bit earlier than usual, I'll do that sometimes (oops). Anyway, next Saturday is when the next update occurs and things start to speed up, I know this pace right now must be agonizing. Stay tuned as shit hits the fan!


	5. My Dear Rodger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms to know for this chapter:  
> Broad- A term for a woman, usually offensive  
> Schmuck- one who is stupid or foolish; or an obnoxious, contemptible or detestable person.

The vibes that Mickey radiated were clear cut- fuck me, and then fuck off. And honestly, I was perfectly fine with that. I was still bullshitting my way through life, and relationships were not a part of that correlation. 

Besides, I’d have to be damn well stupid to go waltzing around as a homosexual in these times. Times where you had to be white and pretty. 

I ran my hand through my fire hair, setting any strands back into place that had spiked up in my sexual haze. 

I continued walking through the car lot, looking for the dipshits I call friends. And sure enough, there they were. 

Huddled around Rodger’s god-forsaken Chevy Corvair. Girls in miniskirts and neon lipstick hung on their arms like sexual hunks of meat. 

I trudged up to the group of guys, making a poor attempt to slink around them in the dark to just slip into the car seat and await to be taken home. That was soon proven impossible, as Rodger has a thousand eyes.

“Ey! Yo Ian!” Rodger unwrapped his arm from one bleach blonde girl with heavily permed hair, almost forming a bit of a lane's mane around her head, who was also rudely smacking her gum around. “You disappeared. Embarrassed by us?” Rodger said it casually, leaning against the hood of his car in a relaxed manner.

But there was an underlying tone in his voice, the same tone that allowed him to be able to control a gang, the tone that made me _want_ stop in my tracks and cooperate.

“No,” I stated blandly. Words were not to my advantage at the moment. Rodger narrowed his eyes and took as few steps closer to me.

“Who do you think we are? Old broad you can ditch on 'BINGO' night?”

I rolled my eyes at his constant need to over dramatize everything. “Come one, Rodger, let’s just go home,” I tried. He would have none of that.

“The fuck you doing talkin’ to those fuckin’ grease monkeys? People get cancer from the air they breathe!”

Now it was my turn to get in Rodger’s face. Lip stood behind a few other Socs, and subtly shook his head at me. His eyes pleading: _stop, Ian. While you still can._

“They’re nice,” I smiled sarcastically. “And I met up with an old friend.”

Rodger chuckled dryly and patted my back, ruffling my hair. He swung his arm over my shoulders and steered me over to the car door for the back seat. Brent, who was standing nearby, graciously opened the door for me. Just like a fucking gentleman. Just like his old schmuck of a mother taught him to be. Rodger looked at me and beamed, poking my nose playfully with his pointer finger.

I cringed as though the touch burned and Rodger cooed: “Oh, Ian, you always were quite the witty one. Always making me chuckle. So cute.” And with that, he patted my shoulder and nudged me inside the car. I sat down, and stared back up at all of the chubby, sneering, and just plain ken doll lookin' faces peering in at me inside the car, before their view was destroyed by the slam of the car door.

Thereon, the day after Rodger and I’s standoff was completely average and uneventful, as it always was after we've done that dance. And it was often. I’m quite shocked Rodger hasn't completely cut me loose altogether, and although we've been friends for years, I have gotten to be quite the little shit. 

The smarter part of me does that automatically. The smarter part of me knows hanging around poison gets you sick. 

The loss of a childhood friend is always tragic, but when your friends with a sadistic bastard like Rodger, it makes me feel more optimistic. 

Back in the third grade, Rodger had copied off this one minority’s test, Pablo. Little Pablo had then foolishly fallin' down the wrong cliff when he decided to be a good rule-abiding citizen, so he went and snitched to the leather bag of what they called a teacher, riling up the devil inside of Rodger. Rodger began scheming, and I was always his beloved partner in crime.

I had helped Rodger sneak into Pablo’s basement. I watched him chop off the legs of his one and only friend, Mr. Flippy the turtle. 

I laughed as Rodger convinced Pablo that Hitler had done the deed, and that Hitler currently resided in his grandmother’s attic. Waiting to cut off Pablo's arms and legs next to sell them at the black market.

I cringed at the memory, how horrible tiny Pablo's guttural wailing was. Oh, I felt dead inside.

But Rodger was like cancer, you cut it out in one place, and it pops back up in another. Rodger really wasn't what I wanted to have on my mind all day, but my mind tends to run off to faraway places from time to time.

Especially when the important "meeting" in the nearby abandoned train tunnel only consisted of Socs dickin' around, getting shitfaced drunk and talkin' about the next girl they wanted to shove their filthy meat sticks into. Just to be blunt.

Lip and I walked home together, conversing in happy conversation and laughing. As soon as we flung open the pristine, burgundy door to the Gallagher home, Lip immediately waved me goodbye and disappeared off somewhere to do his homework. 

Fiona and Debbie were in the kitchen, making cookies, giggling and twirling around in flowy, pastel sundresses. The small portable radio was planted on the kitchen table, speakers rhythmically spitting out Bob Crosby.

“I've got a dream house, I’ll build there one day, with picket fence and ramblin’ rose!” They sang in synchronized harmony, mixing and beating various concoctions of substances, all the while splattering the goop over very possible wall and counter. 

“I love those dear hearts, and gentle people, who live and love in my home town!” Fiona chanted, her face scrunching up in pure joy as she wiped a glob of cookie dough onto Debbie’s nose, and chuckled as Debbie tried to lick it off with her own tongue. 

The scene was so serene, so . . . domestic. My mouth twisted in an ugly manner as I bolted up the stairs, confused, and a little frightened, by my emotions. I ran into the room Lip and I shared, flinging myself onto the mattress and pressing my hands against my forehead. maybe in an attempt to smother my own brain to get it to shut the hell up.

“What’s up with you?” I heard Lip ask from adjacent the bed, possibly surrounding by papers and textbooks.

“I’m an asshole,” I stated simply. Too tired to clarify the cryptic statement or maybe just too scared to try. 

“So am I. The admission wasn't so hard now, was it?” Lip smirked and began scribbling something down on his paper.

I sat up and propped myself up on my elbow, “are you happy Lip?”

He looked up from his work, and stared at me, brows furrowing together in deep concentration. He shrugged and replied, “ ‘Course. We ain't in south side anymore.” I suddenly shot up, feeling a sudden intense moment of enlightenment.

“That’s it! That’s what I mean!” I exclaim. “This is a bullshit white picket fence life here, Lip. Since when did we ever have the occasion to sing fuckin’ ‘Dear Hearts and Gentle People’?”

Lip raised an eyebrow, “Uh. . . never?” he tested cautiously. I nodded my head vigorously.

“What are we having for dinner tonight, Lip?”

“. . . Pot roast?” he drawled out, each answer coming out in a questionable format. Like he was trying to speak quietly and calmly to a rabid dog.

“Exactly! That shit’s expensive! Don’t you miss stealing from food trucks, or- or shooting down eagles and pretending they’re turkeys on Thanksgiving?”

“No,” Lip’s single confident reply simply stated. I waved my hand in defeat.

I sure as hell didn't have the time or energy to argue. I longed for the grimy and filthy, taste of south side- of home. 

I bounded down the stairs, yanking back open the front door, cutting off the blaring of The Beatles' "Me and My Monkey" as I slammed the wood shut behind me. South side was a decent walk from here, but I was perfectly content on forever chasing my nostalgia in my old stomping grounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now officially on spring break, so chapters will be a lot longer. Although chapter updates will still be on Wednesdays and Saturdays.


	6. Records, Booze, and Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms to know for this chapter:  
> Tuff- Cool, in a rugged wrong-side-of-the-tracks way.  
> Turntable- Pretty much the machines used to play vinyl records. The record is placed onto a rotating base or "turntable".

“Mickey, what are you doing?” Mandy demanded from the door to the house.

“Thinking,” I stated simply. I sat in a broken down lawn chair with my knees pulled up close to my chest, wrapping my hooded arms around myself to keep warm.

“You don’t even have bottle in your hand!” she exclaimed with an amount of utter shock equal to a UFO landing right on the roof of our house at that precise moment.

If you can even call our broken down shack a house. I shrugged, and kept staring straight forward at our wooden fence, busying myself in counting the weeds that scatter the entire expanse of our yard. 

“Come on Mick. No one should be damned with having to think sober.” She stood next me, holding her hand out to help me up. 

I struggled up on my own and as I straightened up, a bottle of vodka was shoved into my chest. “And you better fucking hurry up. I’m already half way there,” she grinned and playfully hopped back into the house. 

I take a grateful chug of the vodka. It felt like snake venom and motor oil going down my throat, but a blissful numbness in my head.

I giggled at the tingling sensation, taking another swig and sauntering back into the house. 

Mandy was hunched over our record player, fucking with some vinyls and carefully aligning the turntable's needle to the beginning of the record. Well, as careful and steady as her drunken hands would allow her. 

The song began with some peppy percussion, and she bounced rhythmically to the instruments. 

“Mandy, what the fuck is this shit?” I laughed. God I was such an embarrassing happy drunk. They always said the drunken side of you is your secret alter ego. And he was. Because I was so fucking jealous of him.

“The song were gonna dance to, dummy,” she shimmied her way over to me and started twisting and twirling around, bouncing on the coffee table and holding a bottle of tequila over her head like a blessed torch. 

I took another swig of my own vodka and began to dance too, light, subtle movements at first, then Mandy and I would jump around together and mouthed the lyrics of the song into our pretend bottle microphones. Mandy had her arms wrapped around my neck, I occasionally tilted my head back to down some more alcohol, when we heard a forceful know at the door. Mandy pulled back and stumbled over her own feet to go answer the door. Closing my eyes, I continued to drunkenly dance to the fuckin’ Newbeat’s "Run Baby Run" as I had never danced before. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was impossible to describe the feeling I had as I approached the Milkovich house. 

At the Drive-In, Mandy had slipped me her address on a slip of paper before we had parted ways, pleading for us to catch up sometime. I rightfully agreed. I kept that small piece of paper in my pocket ever since then, aimlessly running my finger along its frayed edge whenever I felt as though I was drowning in khaki and sweater vests. It reminded me there was escape. Now here I was standing on the Milkovich's porch, cocking my head to possibly decipher where the loud booming of music was coming from.

The lock began to click and turn as someone struggled it open, and behold, a very drunken Mandy stood in the doorway, squealing.

“Ian! Holy shit!” she pounced forward and hugged me. When she pulled away, her mouth hung agape and her hands flew to the top of her head. “Oh my god!” she exclaimed, “how rude of me! Come in, come in, get drunk!” she laughed and pulled me inside, throwing me a tequila bottle with about two ounces left settled at the bottom. I was happy to oblige. Especially when I perceived the raven haired boy I had fucked at the drive-in, twirling and laughing at the ceiling. 

I swallowed the soothing liquor as I watched him dance carelessly around the room. He swayed his hips and teased Mandy a couple time trying to ruffle up her hair. And no matter how many times Mandy became agitated, twirled around and playfully smacked Mickey, a warming memory of how my own siblings interacted with each other when we were younger took root into my head. 

Something was different in him, something was different in me. He wasn't laid-back and tuff as he was perched on top of that Ford Mercury at the drive-in; he wasn't hot and sexy like he was pressed up against a tree as I rammed into him. He was childlike, with a speck of innocence to him that made him like no other. He wasn't worried about money, or how the hell he’d get his hands on the most recent, sickest car like the buffers up in north side were.

He was happy to be dancing in his shitty house with his sister, drunken off his ass without a care in world. I began to bounce to the beat too, chugging down the trail of liquor bottles scattered across my path. 

Mandy was twisting on the coffee table, doing the most mediocre dance moves I have ever laid eyes on- it was truly the most beautiful scene. 

It only took a couple songs to wear us out, and we all took to the sofa, drunken and panting. I leaned against the arm of the sofa and Mandy snuggled up to me. Mickey had taken to the arm chair next to the couch, wrapped in on himself, his head resting on the cushion, his messy and tangled hair stuck out every which way. 

No, this is against the natural order, I should be embarrassed with the fact that I fucked this guy. Up against a fucking tree, at a fucking drive-in. Though, it was nothing of the sort. 

I was completely comfortable, and fuck, blame it on the alcohol, all I really want to do was snuggle up next to him. I felt as though I need to make something right with him- that there’s supposed to be something more than just a quick fuck here. He looked dirty, and sweaty with tattered clothes, but he looked peaceful and serene in a way that money could never buy.

“Ey, Mands,” I gently shook her shoulder, silently smiling to myself at the use of the old nickname.

“Mm? What?” she replied sleepily.

“Is it cool if I crash here?” I whispered. Mandy propped herself up on her arm and looked straight at me, black kohl makeup was smudged all over her eyes.

“Problems with your folks?” she smirked, “been there, done that. . .” she sighed dreamily.

“Nah, more like issues with the entire fucking north side.”

Mandy sat up, “welcome back to our world bud, feel free to crash, I gotta get to bed though before I hurl everywhere.” 

She grimaced as she got up and swung herself over me, extending her hand out to help me up. I took it with a smile, but hauled myself up with my free arm to not put any weight on Mandy. I could tell by the way she swayed as she stood in her spot any modest amount of force would knock her over.

“Thanks raccoon,” I smiled. Mandy rolled her eyes and muttered a half-hearted "whatever" as she took my hand and led me to her bedroom.

I found myself continuously casting quick glances over my shoulder at the sleeping figure of her brother.

My eyes fluttered open. I laid there for a minute, waiting for my brain to wake up and process life. 

It was barely dawn, the sun only creeping above the horizon sliver. My head rolled to the side, taking in Mandy’s silhouette huddled in a wad of blankets on the other side of the bed. I sat up, wincing and holding my head as a throbbing headache sank it’s teeth into my brain. And- oh fuck. Fiona is going to have my ass. I probably should’ve told someone where I was going, I figure this out now in my calm, hungover state.

“Mands! Mands!” I hiss as I gently poke her shoulder to wake her. She groaned and pulled the blankets up closer to her chin.

“Ian, for fucks sake-“

“I gotta bolt.”

She shifted her body onto her other side to look at me, her eyes blinking repeatedly as they adjusted to the morning light.

“Wha…?”

“Fiona’s gonna freak. I figure if I leave now I could sneak back into the house without anyone noticing.”

Mandy nodded and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She looked at me with the glassy, longing irises.

“Thanks for comin’ over,” she playfully hit me on the shoulder, “We should do this more often.”

“Hell yea. You’re the only person I can even stand anymore,” I laugh, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and pulling on my jeans.

“Yea, yea, now go do your walk of shame,” she covered her growing blush and embarrassment from the compliment with humor. But she smiled and waved, and I mimicked her before slipping out of the room and quietly closing her bedroom door. I tiptoed through the house, the old wooden floors letting out the occasional creak.

As I passed the kitchen, I glanced at the small clock situated on the counter. Holy shit was I lucky- barely five in the morning now, I could defiantly be home by twenty to the hour. I smiled smugly to myself and began to pick up my pace to the door when I jumped. 

A figure was stretched on the couch, and although it was facing away from my view, I noticed a bit of spikey black hair sticking straight up. What the fuck was Mickey doing at five in the morning in the middle of summer? 

I began to creep closer, curious as to what he was doing. And thanks to my height, I managed to peer up and over the back of the couch. He was reading. 

The irony made me snicker quietly to myself, and I began to walk casually again, making my presence known so I didn't startle him. I’d probably end up with a blade in my throat. When Mickey heard the approaching footsteps he slammed the book shut and put it behind the pillow, pretending to nonchalantly play with the hem of his white tank.

“Watcha readin’?” I ask innocently, sitting on the coffee table and cocking my head. I was having too much fun with the upper hand here.

Mickey rolled his eyes and muttered a quiet ‘shit’ before reaching behind him and showing me the cover. “Holy crap, ‘A Clockwork Orange’? That shits hard as hell to read.”

Mickey shrugged, and stared at the cover, “I guess. I don’t know man, I like it.” Then his head jerked back up, and stared me straight in the eye, his demeanor suddenly get deathly serious. “Don’t you dare tell my dad.”

My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, “I swear to god I won’t. Why though?”

“Because he says reading is for fags, and he’d beat my ass.”

“For _reading?_ ” I ask, amazed at even the thought of such a cruel act. “Well, that’s coming from a man with an IQ gone to hell.”

At my quip, I shit you not, the corner of Mickey’s mouth hitched to the side, even if only for a split second before he cleared his throat and frowned again. Oh god, did I want to see that smile again. Suddenly mesmerized by the promise of a smile, only then did I realize I was supposed to be bookin’ my ass home.

“Damn. I gotta go before Fiona flips shit. I'll, um, I guess I’ll see you later?”

Mickey nodded and looked away as I stood and went for the door.

“Ey,” he began, and I turned back around to face him, “if you wanna like, I don’t know, hang around or somethin’, I’m here. . .” his sentence drifted off as he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. I smiled and gave a curt nod before stepping outside. I knew in Milkovich language, this was fourth fuckin' base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy April Fools! Hope you guys didn't make too many enemies by pranking people today >:)


	7. The Chameleon Effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kools- A popular brand of cigarette in the 60s

When I arrived back at my house and began jogging up the steps, the sun had already ascended over a fair part of the sky. I creeped my way up the creaky wooden steps to my house’s back door, because who knew how the former south side occupants would react. Probably with bats and mace at the least.

I slowly wrapped my hand around the brass door knob and slowly began to turn it, cringing as the door creaked when I inched it open. I quietly slipped through the small crack I had made and as quietly as physically possible I clicked the door shut. Though as I turned round, I jumped as I encountered a not-so-tickled Fiona.

“Oh shit,” I murmured under my breath. She had her arms crossed with a spatula covered in cooking batter that was more likely than not about to whip my ass.

“Yea, ‘oh shit’ is right,” she raised her eyebrows disapprovingly and her hip jutted out in an extremely sarcastic manner.

“Since when were all of you up at the ass crack of dawn?” I asked, addressing Fiona, Lip who was leaning over the kitchen counter, Liam in his highchair, and, oh my god seriously? Frank. He turned around and grinned his stupid lopsided smirk.

“My boy!” He exclaimed, then came over and brought me into a tight bear hug. I made horrid face at the putrid odor of alcohol that came wafting off of Frank at every slight movement. Even now as we live a life of luxury, he still manages to be a raging alcoholic- though much classier now.

“What do you want, Frank?” I groaned pushing away at Frank.

He looked taken aback by my low demand, and promptly remarked with a scoff: “Ian Clayton Gallagher, what right serves you to speak to your father in such an unruly manner?”

I stared up at him expectantly, waiting for the stupidity to continue, and the asking of a favor I did not owe him. “Your dear buddy, um, shit. . . Rodger! Speak with him will ‘ya? I need his father to sell my alcohol in his night clubs, and his old man won  
t sign the damn contract.” I rolled my eyes and pushed past him, hearing him throw his hands up as they came back down and slapped against his finely pressed black slacks. I made way to the stairs to lay down, I’m way too hung over for this shit, when Fiona sidestepped into my path, still very unpleased.

“You need to tell me where you are, Ian. The best I’d heard of where you were was Lip’s ‘oh he fucked off somewhere, I don’t know’,” she said dumbly as she dropped her voice to mock Lip. I could actually imagine Lip’s expression of unamusement as he rolled his eyes.

“Okay, Fiona. From now on you’ll be the first to know about my whereabouts.”

Fiona nodded, seeming now satisfied with my answer, and let me pass. I trudged up the stairs to enter my room and shut the blinds in hopes of blocking out the glaring sun. I threw myself down onto my bed and cradled the pillow, never being so thankful for the wads of soft fabric in my life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I propped my filthy, grease covered boots on the peeling wooden desk in front of me painted an atrocious light blue. 

I then entertained myself by watching Tommy and a few other fools move their shoulders and bang their heads rhythmically to our Lord and savior, Elvis Presley. 

Most of the crew was working on beat up junk piles that backfire to a tune. Tommy, though, has officially reached a superior level of dicking around. 

He jumped onto a raw metal car frame drug in from the scrapyard, whipping his slicked brown hair every which way has he howled the lyrics obnoxiously into a wrench. I leaned forward and glanced cautiously at the only two doors leading into the mechanic’s warehouse, keeping a close lookout for our evil prick of an employer before shouting:

“Yo Tommy! You got a Kools I could bum?”

Tommy looked up and grinned before sliding of the hood of the metal car frame, swaggering over to me as he dug around in his grey overalls. He soon presented me with a carton of Kools, and I reached in and snagged a cigarette, leaning into the flame of Tommy’s lighter. 

I hissed as I breathed in the smoke, savoring the chemicals in my lungs before exhaling the plume of smoke. Tommy jumped up onto the desk, sitting next to my feet as he anxiously played with his hands in his lap. My eyebrows shot into my hairline as I rested my elbow on the desk, and I stared at him, intrigued.

“I, uh, I gotta ask you of somethin’ Mick, It’s pretty big. . .” Tommy began. I nodded my understanding and puffed on my cigarette as I waited for him to continue onto his point. “So your kid sister, Mandy, she’s real tuff ain’t she?” I continue to nod, keeping a deadpan face knowing full well from experience that’s the face for any situation. “I like her lots, she’s a neat gal, real pretty- funny too.” I purse my lips and hum in agreement, getting more annoyed by the second at this dude ogling over my sister straight to my face. Tommy shook his head and cleared his throat. “What I’m getting at is I wanna ask her out, and I’m just tryin’ to make sure I've got your blessing. I know your real protective.”

I chuckle lowly at that statement, while although it was true, I'm fairly sure Mandy could handle herself.

“Ey, man, if you say so. But you don’t know my sister ‘till you've fought my sister.”

Tommy’s mouth split into a toothy grin, “yea, she’s a tough girl ain’t she?”

“Sure as hell, she is, dude.” Once I had finished leisurely smoking on my cigarette, I threw the butt to the cement floor and squashed it underneath the toe of my boot. “Go for it,” I conclude. Tommy fist bumps the air and claps me on the back before banging his gelled hair around again to Elvis. Fuck, I’ll never hear the end of this romance from Mandy. But as long as she's happy I guess. Well, either that or Tommy will loose all his limbs. I began to absently twirl a wrench in between my fingers.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Did you get in real trouble when you got home,” Mandy asked, leaning over the table.

I shook my head, the side of my mouth tilting up. “Nah, nothing I couldn't bullshit my way out of,” I laugh as I took a sip of my Coca-Cola. 

The diner today was extremely crowded, it being nearly the dinner hour. Mandy shrugged and grabbed a french fry from the middle of table, then running it through some ketchup, she threw it into her mouth. A waitress came over and set our dinner bill down on the table. Mandy began to reach for It and I playfully swatted her hand away, paying the bill myself.

“Goddamnit Ian,” she whined, “you’re too good to me.”

I grinned and flagged down the waitress, and she soon clacked over in her giant ass platform heels, shoving the bill in her apron.

“It’s ok, Mandy, it's just a couple of burgers we'll be fine. My dad pays the rent with his alcoholism.”

Mandy giggled and stood up, brushing crumbs off of her clack miniskirt in the process. I offered her my arm and she placed her hand in the crook of my elbow.

As I walked Mandy home, we somehow managed to find more things to mindlessly banter about the entire way back to the Milkovich house, even though we had just spent about an hour chatting at the diner.

I kept my goodbyes to Mandy short when we arrived at her house, knowing full well I’d see her again. She kissed me on the cheek and I waved her goodbye before I waved down a taxi to take me home.

The Gallagher house itself was impossibly vacant at the moment. Either that, or the younger kids probably screwed off upstairs somewhere. I threw myself down onto our fancy beige couch and flicked on the TV. Propping my sneakers up onto our coffee table- the oak needs some good scuff marks anyway- I entertained myself with the current marathon of The Twilight Zone that was currently airing. Not even five minutes after I had settled in for the night, the phone began to ring obnoxiously in its holder nailed to the wall. I muttered a couple curses to myself and got up, approaching the vibrating device clattering loudly. I roughly picked it up and placed it against my ear, nervously fiddling with the spiral cord extending from the telephone as I spoke to the person on the other side.

“Hello?” I asked cloaked in uncertainty.

“Ian, we've got ourselves a situation,” a deep voice spoke solemnly from the other end. Fuck, _Rodger?_ Seriously?

I sigh and place my hand against my forehead, leaning my head against the white paneling of the kitchen. “Where do ya need me?” I said exasperated.

“Meet the gang at the tunnel. I’m calling a formal meeting. Your brother’s already headed down there, I rang earlier in the day.”

“Alright, Rodger. I’ll be there in a few.”

I hung up by slamming the wall phone back into its holder and changing the channel on the TV to Tom and Jerry for Liam before I left for the train tunnel. I’m betting on my life this meeting is over something completely stupid and pointless.

And turns out I’d be dead. I never in a million years could have expected the scene that was laid out before me as I approached the gaping entrance of the abandoned train tunnel we used for gang meetings. Socs were up against the curved metal walls, boxing angry dents into the metal. Rodger was pacing back and forth at the entrance as a few Socs argued and yelled at each other behind him. I noticed Lip smoking on a wooden crate also by the entrance, so I decided to approach the only seemingly serene member of the gang in hopes I'd get an idea of what I was about to get myself into. 

“What’s going on?” I whispered, in fear I’d anger the rabid Socs shouting, punching, and pacing in front of me. It honestly looked like they were all bewitched and going on a maddened rampage of violence and terror. Lip blew out a plume of smoke and motioned a small distance down into the darkened tunnel. Brent was down there and cloaked in darkness, his knees pulled up to his chest as he rocked back and forth. A couple Socs were kneeled in front of him and appeared to be trying to communicate with him, but they didn't seem to be having much luck if the deadpan plastered onto Brent’s face and motionless lips were anything to go by. 

“See Brent over there? His dad was killed in a bank robbery. He just got the news today.”

My eyes widened and I stared at Lip, dumbfounded. “You’re shitting me.”

Lip shook his head sadly. “Wish I was little brother. His dad was working behind the counter. It was just a hostage situation gone wrong, I guess.”

“Who robbed the place?”

Lip furrowed his eyebrows, “just some south side scum. I reckon they were a couple a greasers that found their way up north and decided to make some easy cash.”

I was internally cringing at Lip’s word choice of “south side scum” but decided not to mention it with the circumstances of the situation. I gingerly stepped over to Brent, like I was attempting to tiptoe around a ticking time bomb. The two Socs previously crouched before Brent had gone off. Rodger was the only one left crouched before Brent.

“We’re not gonna take this. You hear me? Your not gonna take this. Those greasers are far outta line. They’re all worthless and weak. Your gang’s got your back,” Rodger reassured Brent. He kept a firm grip on Brent’s shoulder, and when no progress had been made with getting a reply out of Brent, Rodger simply nodded and stood. “The gang’s going crazy for you, man,” he told Brent before walking a few feet away to talk to me in a somewhat private place.

“Did you hear?” Rodger narrowed his eyes at me.

“Yea, Lip filled me in.”

“Sad as hell, right? He’s beating himself up about it. His mom wants to kill herself. It ain't too optimistic of a time comrade.”

I nodded, and looked back at Brent up against the wall, rocking back and forth, back and forth. It could’ve been the darkness aiding my eyes in playing ticks on my mind, but I could’ve sworn I saw Brent’s lips moving as though he was erratically mumbling to himself. 

“You, uh, did a fine job talkin’ to him,” I point out.

Rodger shook his head, and cracked his knuckles. “I didn't do nothin’. Not yet. Ain't nothing is gonna help Brent until those bug attracting bastards get what they deserve. A place in the earth six feet under.”

A smirked at Rodger’s exaggeration, always was a drama queen, but no longer found it humorous when I examined Rodger’s facial expression. He was dead serious.

“Rodger, you don’t mean that. They ain't all like that.”

“Of course they are, Ian! Fuckin’ hell! A greaser’s a grease like a demon of hell is Satan’s bitch!” Rodger exclaimed. I blinked, but made sure I remained calm, made no sudden movements. Rodger ain't like a rabid dog, he is one. Rabies included. Rodger drew in a deep breath and ran his hands over his face to compose himself before continuing. “I’m sick of this shit, Ian. We’re too different. We can’t live side by side, and we sure as hell can’t live together in a single city. They’re official enemies of this gang now, and any members are free to be hostel to any south side trash that comes crawling out of those dirt shacks they call a home.”

And with that, Rodger turned on his heel and walked off. I continued to stand in place, completely taken aback. It was a common phenomenon with close knit gangs like ourselves. When a member gets played a shit hand in life, the rest of the gang go completely bat shit crazy. Just to prove the point, two Socs were wrestling on the ground of the tunnel, taking their anger out on each other in the heat of the moment. I turn around to head back over to Lip, whom was still sat on a supply crate smoking like chimney.

"It's kinda fascinating all tragedies aside. This sort've. . . chameleon effect. . ." he muttered to himself wistfully.

“Um, yea sure. Just let me know what fucked up shit Rodger plans on doing to make himself believe hes helping. Okay?” I lean in and whisper to Lip. He nodded his head and made a waving motion with his hand, shooing me off. And I began to walk home by myself in the dark.

I guess I did truly believe Rodger is humble in his attempts to comfort Brent. But Rodger was anything but a martyr. If anything was keeping me still titled as Rodger’s lackey was the sliver of a rare, but valuable, side of Rodger that is capable of showing love and enrichment. When Monica came home that when day when I was fifteen, I was nothing more but a complete wreck. Of course I ran all the way to Rodger like a little bitch, but he had told me I was anything but. When I thought all my hope had been crushed, Rodger took me yet again under his wing and brought me back to sanity. And like the miracle it was, when I had returned home, Monica was gone. Rodger’s an ass, but he could make a person feel real good if he wanted to. Maybe I just felt like I owed him something. Or maybe I just couldn't give up on the possibility that deep down inside, Rodger really was that savior he was to me back when we were younger. 

God, I needed to sleep this shitty mode of philosophy my mind has set itself into before I start pondering the meaning of life and if anything truly exists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER UPDATE CHANGE!!!  
> This fic will only be updated on Saturdays now, my apologies. My school work is getting piled high and it's getting too hard to concentrate on that AND updating the fic every Wednesday morning. :(


	8. From Filicide to Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!! This chapter gets a little dark and has graphic descriptions. Assault and thoughts of self-mutilation are present.

Mandy had informed me the other day of Mickey’s employment at Raymond’s Mechanics, which really doubled as a chop shop. So I took that information and put it to good use as I decided to meet up with him after his shift ends at two.

I stood outside of the back garage, smoking a cigarette and shifting my weight nervously between my feet. My head flew up and I squinted my eyes against the glare of the sun as Mickey came sauntering out of the garage. He then suddenly turned around and raised both of his hands to flip someone off in the far end of the garage.

“Ey! Fuck you! Fuck you! And especially, fuck you,” he shouted, pointing to several specific people has he spewed off insults. I smirked at the amount of public indecency put on display there. 

Mickey turned back around and his eyebrows sharply rose before he tapped out a cigarette of his own. He brought the cigarette to his plump, pink lips, and fuck I wanted to put my mouth on them right then. I wanted to pull them and bite on them with my teeth. 

“Didn't expect to see you here,” he observed, leisurely puffing on his cigarette. I threw the butt of my finished cig down onto the pavement and crushed it under my heel. 

“Wanna fuck around? The dugouts just a bit up north or a good secluded place,” I throw out bluntly. Apparently the boldness made Mickey extremely impressed judging from the way his eyebrows rose and a smirk played on his lips. 

“Well, fuck me then Gallagher.”

I pushed Mickey up against the chain link fence, pressing my hard-on in between Mickey’s ass cheeks but still not actually entering him yet. Mickey rutted up against me, groaned and, holy fuck, even whined a little bit.

“Come on man, what’d I say ‘bout teasing?”

“Yea, yea I know Mick, _is this. . ._ ” I suddenly thrust into Mickey as I said the final word, leaving him moaning and clawing at the fence. “ _. . . Better?_ ” I lean in close to his ear and whisper, going wild over how Mickey shudders as he feels my breath against the outside of his ear.

“Holy shit Ian, fuckin’ move,” Mickey panted and began pushing back onto my cock. I grinned and braced one hand on Mickey’s shoulder and the other was placed firmly on his hip. The fast pace of my thrusting coupled with the moans I managed to elicit from Mickey finished us both off in no time. 

As we pulled our jeans up and secured our belts, Mickey was looking off somewhere to the side of the dugouts at area across the giant baseball diamond.

“What’s going on over there?” he turns to me and asks, hitching a thumb over his shoulder to indicate what he was referring to. Sure enough, there was a group of people just outside of the fenced off dugouts. I could make out a couple yells and collective laughter, along with some shoving being exchanged and- oh fuck. Oh god no.

“That’s a girl they’re shoving around!” Mickey exclaims as Rodger and a few of his other goons were caging in a poor greasy girl up against the chain link. Mickey turns out of the roofed benching area and stomps across the baseball field, kicking up sand from the pitcher’s mound, creating a giant dust cloud. 

I surge forward, trying to catch Mickey before he makes his appearance known to the group of Socs. Now is the most inconvenient time for a greaser to be approaching a Soc. Apparently he hadn't gotten the recent news. That, or he cared about protecting women to his death and for that, I had deep respect for him.

“Hey asswipe!” Mickey yells, getting in Rodger’s face and putting himself in between them and the female. She had dark tear tracks, blackened from mascara, running down her cheeks and a fearful quiver in her lip. “How do you get off treating ladies like useless meat?”

“How do you greasers get off with cold-blooded murder!” Rodger shouts back, grabbing Mickey’s shirt collar and shoving him into the fence.

“Rodger, enough!” I intervene, putting my hand on Rodger’s arm to get him to release Mickey. 

“Oh! Of course, this is _your_ bitch Ian,” Rodger turns his head and snarls in my face. And the Mickey bomb had been set off. A swift punch had connected with Rodgers jaw and he promptly let go of Mickey as he stumbled to the ground and held the side of his face in pain. Mickey jumped down after Rodger and straddled his chest, wailing punches on him.

“I ain't nobodies bitch!” Mickey screams.

“Get your fuckin’ dog off me man!” Rodger commanded towards me, but I just stood there and watched the shit-show. Mickey is shortly yanked off of Rodger by his goons, and then is promptly thrown off to the side. I race over and grab him under the arms to help him up as Rodger is standing up himself, spitting blood from his mouth and wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. Rodger stares us down, and without a single word, calmly walks off. And bullshit if that doesn't feel like a parent’s “I’m not mad, just disappointed,” shenanigan.

Mickey rolls his shoulders and declares he’s just going to head home. I agreed, me at least needing some time to sort out what the hell just happened, what is happening, and what is going to happen. So we part ways and I had down a lonesome sidewalk, the sky still hot and blaring down on me. A slight wind picks up and I pin the rustling of the bushes on the element. And because of the collective noise that the plants emitted all around me, I never, in any parallel universe, would have noticed the approaching footsteps behind me until I was struck in the head with something defiantly metal going off of the clank the object made as it cracked against my skull. My hands instinctively placed themselves on top of my throbbing head, and I then crumbled to the ground as I was dead legged soon after. Meaty hands found my arms and something tight enveloped my wrists before my vision began spotting and eventually turned black entirely.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I cleaned my guns when I was angry. It gave me a sense of tranquility with the knowledge that I had the opportunity to easily shoot my enemies’ head off or just as easily scare the willies out of them. 

So there I sat at the kitchen table that was never really used for its intended purpose, taking apart every single gun, thoroughly scrubbing down the metallic surfaces and putting them back together piece by piece. And in a Milkovich household, that was a shit ton of guns. I could most likely be here for hours, and I was quite alright with that. 

A steady and persistent knocking came from the front door. And I honest to god didn't want to open the door thinking it was Gallagher. I don’t know I just . . . need a break. 

Mandy came scampering out of her room, and as she passed by me she rolled her eyes and scolded: “Mickey, its rude not to answer the door”, as if my main goal for my persona was “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”.  
Mandy flung open the door and a squeal that surly bypassed a thousand decibels ripped throughout the house. I slammed down the gun I was currently polishing to rub my already aching temples. 

“Tommy? What are you doing here?!”

I did however manage a smirk for Tommy. I knew he was gonna treat my kid sister well.

“Oh, you know, just wanted to ask this fine young lady I knew out for dinner,” he gave Mandy a small bouquet of flowers he probably picked from north side’s gardens. They were way too pretty for the dead grass and weeds found down south.  
“Oh my god Tommy, they’re beautiful!” Mandy gasped, looking in awe at the flowers.

“So what do you think m’ lady? Care to join a no-good grease monkey for dinner?” Tommy gave Mandy a lopsided smile she seemed to go head over heels for.

“Holy shit! Of course I will stupid!” she exclaimed and wrapped her arms around Tommy’s neck. He made eye contact with me and gave me two thumbs up, I raised my half empty beer bottle to him in his favor. They pulled away and Mandy kissed him on the cheek, leaving a cherry red lipstick mark on the skin. 

Tommy said goodbye to Mandy and slipped back outside, Mandy waved and shut the door. She walked by sniffing the brightly colored flower bouquet before turning towards me.

“He’s so romantic,” she sighed dreamily and fluttered her eyelashes. I angled myself over the table, leaning on my elbows and resting my chin in my hands.

“Oh I _know_ ,” I sighed and fluttered my eyelashes mockingly back at her. She rolled her eyes and smacked me on the arm.

“Assface,” she muttered before turning away to head back to her room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I woke with an insane pounding in my head and a stinging sensation on my arm. I felt paralyzed as my body felt so heavy, and so vulnerable to my kidnappers.

“Rise and shine skipper,” I heard Rodger chuckle from somewhere up above. Dry, malicious, laughter that chilled my the core of my bones and brought worry to the front of my mind. “Get him sitting up against the wall, I want him to look at me,” I heard him mutter to his two goons that gladly helped him harass the girl.

Two gigantic hands grabbed me under my biceps and hauled me into a sitting position. They then propped me up against the curved metal wall of the familiar abandoned train tunnel. Rodger was sitting on a supply crate at the other end of the tunnel, on the other side of the tracks. His legs were crossed over the knee as he played around with a balisong knife. He twirled the knife dangerously around before he noticed I was staring at him with pained, hooded eyes. He grinned and hopped off the crate, moving to crouch before me. 

“Would do you want Rodger? Fiona needs me home,” I complain.

“I know she does. And I’ll make sure you get back to where you rightfully belong as soon as we’re done here.” 

My eyes cast themselves downward to settle on the switch Rodger held loosely in his right hand, while his wrist rested on his thigh. The switch was wet with fresh blood, and it dripped the crimson liquid, splattering onto the cement floor below us. _Mickey_ was my only thought. I begin to shake my head anxiously. No, no, no, Mickey is okay. Mickey has to be okay! I swear to god if Rodger hurt him. . .

“What did you do, Rodger?” I tried a pathetic attempt at sounding firm, but my voice came out shaky with fear.

“To your greaser? Oh nothing actually, nothing at all. But something can happen to him if you keep playing this little game you got goin’ Ian.” Rodger ran his finger along the blade, gathering a glob of blood onto his pointer finger. He then rubbed his thumb against the liquid, examining it closely before looking back at me under his eyelashes. “I can’t have you on the fence Ian. When someone jumps back and forth between sides, why, that would make them a traitor. And nobody likes the traitor. I just wanted to make sure you knew your place and purpose in this world,” he smiled mischievously. He leaned in close to my ear to whisper: “You might want to get a bandage on that.”

He slapped my left forearm and pain shot up my entire arm. Nerves felt like they were on fire and I felt warm rivulets of blood travel down my forearm. I forced myself to look down to access the problem. “Soc” was sloppily cut- in some parts more ripped than others- into my skin, a bright, painful, red seemed to make the letters glow. 

“What the fuck did you do? What the fuck did you do!” I shout and lunge at Rodger. His lackeys grabbed hold of my shoulders to hold me back before I even had a chance to get my hands on Rodger. I scream and kick at him, before being dragged out of the tunnel and shoved into the ground where I landed on my hands and knees.

“Quit trying to deny yourself, Ian. Stop trying to ditch your goddamn family,” Rodger yelled down at me before slipping off with his two partners. I crumble to the ground, holding my injured arm close to my body.

To an outsider, “Soc” means absolutely nothing. Hell, it’s just some hood term used only in Chicago for all I know. But I knew what it meant. I knew who did it. I didn't want to be a north sider and I didn't want to become some buffer gangster. It's not where I grew up and it wasn't where I truly belonged. And now, it’s permanently etched into my flesh.

I pound my fist into the counter as I pour hydrogen peroxide onto my wound. It stings and bubbles as it be rids infection but it still feels as though my skin itself is boiling off. I wrap the wound tightly with gauze and bandages. 

I sit on the toilet sit with my head in my hands. I begin to immediately plot the best way to mutilate myself- anything to get rid of the derogatory term. I was on the idea of scratching the word out with a knife. My arm it forever look like I got mauled by a rabid dog, but at least _that word_ wouldn't be there. That's when I suddenly heard Fiona calling from downstairs.

“Ian! It’s a girl!” she squeals. I sigh and get up, putting on a light grey jacket over myself to cover my arms- at least for now. When I go downstairs I try and act relaxed to keep Fiona’s motherly concern at bay. Giving her a more than fake smile when I’m burning inside. A very ecstatic Mandy was on the other end, practically begging for me to join her and Mick for dinner. I accept the offer only in hopes that my two favorite Milkoviches could get my spirits up- and keep my mind off going after fucking Rodger.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ian’s coming with us,” Mandy chirped by my side. We were walking over to Linda’s diner for dinner just between us when Mandy decided she wanted to play cupid.

I scoff, “Yea, probably because you didn't mention my name.”

Mandy rolls her eyes and shoves my shoulder. “God Mick, always so hateful. No wonder you're tighter than a catholic boy."

“Oh my god Mandy, shut the fuck up,” I hiss, already pulling out a cigarette to smoke because nicotine is my only goddamn friend in this city. 

The little bell above the door rings as Mandy and I walk in, and we sit at a table practically in the middle of the diner. Ideally, my seating of choice is, and always will be, in a corner booth, at the back of the diner. And although all the booths were taken, I could have easily threatened someone out of one, but Mandy insisted we needed to be nice and keep on the down-low because of all this greaser and Soc bullshit. 

Gallagher walks in shortly after Mandy and I had sat down. He was hunched over and looked like he had his hands balled into fists, but they were concealed by the pockets on his grey jacket. He quickly scanned the diner and noticed Mandy and I almost immediately because we were practically in the middle of the goddamn place. I eyed him precariously as his movements were quick and jerky. He took a seat next to Mandy and they immediately started chatting away.

“Hey I’m gonna go get a coke. You guys want anything?” he starts standing up in his seat.

“I’m fine,” I reply, fidgeting with my napkin.

“Sprite for me,” Mandy smiles. Gallagher nods and walks off towards the back of the diner where the cashier is. Mandy kicks me under the table, looking at something over my shoulder.

“People are coming over,” she whispers. I twist around in my seat and sure enough, a group of textbook example Socials come strutting over. I immediately recognize their leader and try to shrink down into my seat and blend in with the crowd. The group comes over anyway and a male with bleach blonde hair, a light blue polo, and khakis leans over our table. I actually want to vomit at the expensive cologne reeking off of him.

“Looks like I gave you a bit of a shiner didn't I?” An all too familiar malicious tone taunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who that could be? Thanks for reading you guys! Update will be next Saturday!


	9. The Rumble

“Hey there baby, why don’t you come sit on my lap?” One of the Socs snuggled up behind Mandy, way too close for my liking.

“Get the fuck off me!” Mandy shoved at the man’s chest as she twisted around in her chair, only for another pervert to shove his dick in her face as he played with her dark ebony hair.

I shot up from the table, knocking my chair over, and I got into both of the Soc’s faces.

“You touch her again, and I’ll break every knuckle in your hand- all fifteen of ‘em,” I spit and shove at one’s pastel fucking polo. They both laughed and the one standing in front of me shoved me right back.

“Greasy _and_ uneducated,” the two howled with laughter. I fist my hands at my sides when the Soc that had spoken before stepped forward and crowded into my space. “Settle down rumble fish. Besides, a hand only has fourteen knuckles. Need to count?” The Soc snarled before his fist connected with my face. I heard Mandy scream and two glass bottles shattered nearby, the Soc the punched me was violently knocked down by Gallagher barreling full force into his chest.

The jukebox began to blare “You Ain’t Nothin’ but a Hound Dog” loudly as the entire diner began to fight amongst themselves, Socs and greasers were wrestling around on the floor, throwing chairs, plates, food, anything they could get their hands on. The boy with bleach blonde hair and the light blue polo pounced onto me and straddled my chest, flicking his switch out.

“Ready for round two, grease?” he snickered. But I was ready this time. I brought my leg up to hit the boy to the side and rolled over as we punched each other. I held him down for a fraction of a second before one of the boy’s “guards” picked me up and threw my up onto a table like dead meat. The Soc advanced towards me and I picked up a glass Coca-Cola bottle before I smacked it up against the Soc’s head and pressed my boot to his chest, kicking him away from me. I stood up on the table and started running across the tabletops to for Mandy. Ian had a tight grip on her arm as he pulled her off to the side near the back exit doors.

“Get outside and hide at the side of the building, okay? I gotta go find Mickey,” he yelled over the sound of the jukebox. 

I smirked and casually strode over towards them across the table tops to avoid the heaps of greasers and Socs beating each other up all around me. “No need,” I chuckle when I jumped down from a table in front of them. Mandy wasn’t touched, and all Ian had was a couple bruises already blooming on his face. However I could actually feel the blood running down my face. Police sirens began to become increasingly louder as they raced towards the scene.

“Shit the fuzz. We gotta go,” Ian chattered nervously. I rolled my eyes and strutted out the door with Ian and Mandy. We emerged into the side alleyway of the diner and were greeted by the lead pretty boy and two of his goons. “The fuck do you think your doing, Rodger?” Ian growled and stepped forward, only to be pushed back by his guards. The leader, Rodger I presume, looked me head on and contorted his face, disgusted.

“We can’t live in harmony grease. One of us has gotta go. I’m officially calling a formal rumble tomorrow night at nine o’ clock sharp. Skins only. No weapons. We’ll even give ‘ya a home field advantage, the fight will be at south side’s Old Wiser Park. Looser gotta give the winner their respect, life, and companionship. Everything. Looser becomes the bitch. Run along now and do what you faggots do best- run your mouth everywhere it ain’t supposed to be. Get us some folks to actually fight,” Rodger snarled into my face and spat on my boots before stalking off. 

“I guess I’ll see you later. . .” I heard Mandy begin when she turned towards Ian. I was already stomping off to do exactly what Rodger wanted me to do because I had no choice. We needed fighters for this rumble and now I have to go around and fucking do what faggots do best and tell everyone about it.

When I got home, all I wanted was to sit down and crack open a beer. Maybe bum a joint from Mandy if she hadn't hid them all from me already. Not this. Anything but this. Mandy and I froze in our places in the threshold of the front door, taking in the sight of none other than Terry and my brothers drinking and laughing around our stolen wooden table. When the fuck did he get home from prison? _It’s okay,_ I told myself. It’s fine. He doesn't fucking know. Your fine.

And with the minuscule pep talk I put on the cheapest fake ass smile I have ever sported and walked over to the table, grabbing a beer for myself. I ain't never been able to do this sober and I sure as hell ain't starting now. 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Terry laughed along with my brothers. “You look like fucking shit. You better have won.”

I nodded subtly and threw back the alcohol, brushing off the insults as per usual.

“When the hell did you get outta the can?” I ask.

“Picked him up this morning,” Tony supplied. I raised my eyebrows at Terry’s sudden release.

“Good behavior and overcrowding,” Terry raised his bottle. That cursed bottle that ravaged my childhood to pieces. I looked over at Mandy to see how she was doing, and while she had finally stepped into the house, she still stood timidly at the back now that Terry had knocked back a few. She always was a smart girl. 

Iggy banged his hand on the table and stood up, trying to catch everyone’s attention. “I got somethin’ to tell you guys. . .” he grinned and everyone looked up at him expectantly. “Becca’s pregnant.” Whoops and hollers exploded into the room, Terry stood up and clapped his son on the back.

“That’s my boy!” He laughed.

“Congrats man,” I grip Iggy’s shoulder and shake him before turning and leaving to my room. I needed to be by myself. With the exception of alcohol. 

I knew the other shoe had to drop eventually. I knew I had to eventually accept the inevitable. So I drowned my sorrow and fear with alcohol like I've been taught. Don’t bitch to anyone because no one cares, right?

My face also began to grow stiff by the dried blood, so I shuffled into my bathroom to scrub it off. I avoided eye contact with the mirror, because god forbid I look at myself. I’m a coward and here I am, running and hiding yet again.

Terry’s back. Things have to end with Ian. And as much has I deny it to myself, his company was quite nice. He was a Soc, but he sure as hell didn't act like one. He fuckin’ loves Mandy and Mandy won’t stop swooning over him. If I hadn't been taking it up the ass by Ian, Mandy would've for sure gone for that. And now it’s over. It has to be for his and my safety.

I kept knocking back drinks and time seemed to go by so quickly- and I still couldn't seem to get drunk. I eventually gave up even though a tiny part of me kept telling me to drink until I poisoned myself. Until I was free. Instead I sat on my bed in defeat, staring out my window at the pinking sky.

I jumped when the bed dipped next to me, and I instinctively threw a punch, only for it to be caught in Iggy’s fist. He smirked and I took a deep breath to calm myself, letting my arm fall back into my lap.

“Idiot don’t you know better not to sneak up on a south side?”

“I can if I’m faster,” Iggy joked and looked out the window with me. “I’m sorry, Mick. I really am.”

My head wips over to look at Iggy, only to find he’s looking back at me. I furrow my brows and shake my head a couple times to make sure he really just said that. “Ey, fuck off man. Don’t act so surprised.”

“What for?” I ask, referring to his apology that had miraculously materialized from thin air.

“Terry. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you, man. That’s fucked up. And now he’s back.” I still stare at him confused as fuck. “I know your gay, man,” Iggy whispers. I choke and my defenses automatically shoot up, denying the label as much as possible.

“You don’t know what the fuck your talkin’ about-“

“Mickey, it’s fine. I've known for awhile man. Your secret's safe with me.”

I sigh in defeat and put my head in my hands, squeezing my eyes closed. “How’d you know?” I reply quietly, curious in how I got sloppy. “Was it Mandy? Fuckin’-“

“Come on man, James Dean?” And it hit me. The picture of James Dean I used to jerk off to I kept stashed under my bed. I usually shoved it in a guns magazine pushed back into a corner, but I guess my last jerk off session was cut short abruptly and my tactics got sloppy. I felt my cheeks grow hot and I looked at my hands where they lay resting in my lap. Iggy playfully bumped my shoulder and gave my a toothy grin. “This is gonna sound really faggy, no offense bro, but you know I love ya for who you are? Whatever you are? You’ll always be my kid brother.”

I roll my eyes and tried to play off the embarrassing affection which was completely foreign coming from a filthy Milkovich mouth. I pretend to gag and in return got playfully shoved off the bed. I toppled over onto the floor and Iggy got up to leave. I peered over the bed, crossing my arms over the mattress as I watch Iggy turn in the door frame and wink. “You’re real brave Mick. I’m proud,” he stated simply before exiting my room.

The next day was anything but calm. Terry couldn't be bothered by our stupid rumble because he was a firm believer in fighting it out, and his sons had always better be the winner. So he fucked off to the bar while we sorted our own problems out and made way through south side, gathering any ally gangs that were willing to rumble- which was practically all of them. We finally arrived home mid-afternoon, and the South Side Pit Vipers began to amp ourselves up for the rumble. I sat at our wooden table with ripped jeans and a sleeves black shirt and my gang’s official vest over it. It was still so fuckin’ hot, you could see the heat waves coming off of the pavement at seven. Mandy was nervously chatting with Becca, who had a hand resting over her stomach. The gesture was still so newly strange. My brothers were still cussing at each other to get the brass knuckles and find other loops holes to get around the “No Weapons” rule of skins versus skins. 

I was fiddling with a stray gun left on the table before a heavy banging came form the door. I expected it to be one of the other gang members coming for knuckles, but when I swung open the door I saw a panting redhead hunched over on the porch.  
“Fuckin’ hell-“I spit and shove him off to the side, and I slammed the door behind me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Mickey please, I know Rodger and he’s not one for following the the rules. I- I just want you and Mandy to be safe,” he wheezed. Fuck did this kid run all the way down here? I sigh and run my hands through my hair. I guess there’s no time like the present.  
“I can handle myself, you’re not my keeper,” I grit out. Every part of me was just screaming to bounce out of this situation as fast as possible. Just get it over with. 

“Fuck, Mick, don’t make this diffi-“

“ _Difficult?_ What, you think were boyfriend-girlfriend here? You’re nothing but a warm mouth to me!” I shout. He needs to get away, for his own good. Gallagher’s face dropped and he looked completely taken aback, his eyes were glistening with the threat of tears. He shook his head in disbelief.

“You don’t mean-“

“Just go back to your own fucking side. Rodger’s gonna need his little up and comer.”

And with that, I turned around and stormed back into the house, leaving a dumbfounded redhead on the wooden porch.

“Who was that?” Mandy’s voice carried from the couch.

“No one,” I grumble, because all I hoped for was that in time he would become no one, and we could all move on. Maybe this dull ache in the pit of my stomach will go away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I trudged back to the abandoned grin station in defeat, not at all having accomplished what I sprinted all the way to south side for. I was confused, unsure if this was just one of Mickey's moods, or if he was just riled up from upcoming rumble. So here I was, fucking off back to the shit show where I came from like a kicked dog.

The Socs weren't any bit more tranquil than the Milkoviches, at least what I could tell from the split second I saw into the house the second Mickey slammed the door behind him. They too were shouting at each other and hurriedly yanking on coats. 

" 'bout goddamn time you showed. I hope whatever the hell you were doin' was important."

I shrugged, "Fiona needed help with Liam. I'm here now aren't I?"

"Yea, ten fucking _minutes_ before we've got to bounce."

"And kick them greaser's teeth in! What's left of 'em anyway," a Soc pumped his fist in the air for emphasis. I rolled my eyes. For such north side buffers some of these Socs could defiantly afford more schooling.

"Ian you're shot gunning with me," Rodger informed. A gave him a curt nod and walked away from the herd of Socs gathered in the tunnel's entrance. I headed over to the line of rich boy cars parked in a neat line along the curb of the adjacent road. Of course Rodger's Corvair was in the lead of the car giant car line. A few other Socs trickled in behind me and climbed in the seats of various cars. I sunk a little lower into the pressed leather seat. There are so many of us. I instantly began to play with my fingers, turning and twisting them over and over in my lap. The driver's door was ripped open and Rodger flung himself into the driver's seat as two other Socs got into the back. Moments later, Rodger rammed the heel of his hand into the car horn, three loud honks ripped through the air to signal our departure.

The line of cars crawled through Chicago, an eerie atmosphere settled as we crept under the sunset towards a park that had a single wooden play structure, but mostly consisted of a large stretch of grassy fields. We turned onto a vacant street that outlined the perimeter of the park, and the greaser's came into view. We parked our cars along the road and got out, approaching the other faction slowly as the two sides had a competition over who could look the most menacing with a single glance.

We left more than a few yards between the two groups and Rodger stepped forward to greet another young man that had shaggy brown hair and a "South Side Pit Vipers" vest. Joe and I advanced along with Rodger but made sure to keep behind him. Mickey and another guy with curly blonde hair stepped forward with the brown haired man. Piercing blue eyes bored into my green ones as Mickey crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. I adverted my eyes any possible way I could, anything to avoid having to stare into those once charming- now only malicious- electric blue eyes.

I glance behind the big group of greasers, over toward the Milkovich house just across the street from the park. I could make out two women sitting on some fold up chairs, watching everyone from the front porch. They were quite literally sitting on the edge of their seats, one I knew for certain was Mandy, the other I had never seen before. She was really pretty with long brown hair, she dressed in tight black clothes like Mandy and most greasy girls, and a hand rested protectively over her stomach. 

“Might as well start gettin’ your grease monkeys outta here right now, Iggy. It’s always advantageous to get a head start, yea?” Rodger snickered. The other man, Iggy, balled his fists at his sides and his jaw clenched with anger. In my peripheral vision, I could see Joe move subtly. I turn my attention towards his hand, which was slithering the the back of his boot, wrapping around the handle of what was defiantly a knife. A small sliver of a gleaming silver blade poked out from the top of his boot, and it glinted in the setting sun. It winked with the promise of chaos. I turn back to Mickey to get him to see the weapon, but all of the air was suddenly knocked straight out of my chest. I landed hard on the ground with Mickey straddling my chest, his hands balled into my shirt. I guess the first punch had been thrown. I grabbed onto the back of Mickey’s vest and hauled him off of me, throwing him off to the side. Mickey was quick to get himself up off the ground again to pounce on me once more. We pathetically wrestled around on the ground near the outskirts of where the actual rumble was taking place. Both of us were too pussy to actually throw a punch towards the other. 

“Goddamnit Mickey!” I shout in frustration, trying to get his attention while trying rip away my limbs from where he had them successfully pinned to the ground. I needed to warn him about the knife. No one was supposed to get hurt, but that was inevitable with Rodger.

A greaser’s yell ripped through the air, making the entire scene come to a halt for a split second. “Blade!” he announced before everything went into complete chaos. Feet were thundering against the ground and greasers were collectively shouting to one another. But Mandy’s bloodcurdling scream was what caused my heart to jump into my throat while my blood turned to ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the random hiatus, I really needed to get caught up with this story, my school work, and just life in general. Hope you enjoyed!


	10. Heartache By The Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is the song "Heartache by the Number" by Guy Mitchell. It's a really nice song :)

I splayed my hands against Gallagher’s chest and pushed off, my protective brotherly instincts sped me over to the sound of distress form my sister. My head darted around to see what was happening, but everyone was running around like a heard of startled gazelles. When there was a small break in the swarm of bodies, a circle of greasers were bent over, examining something on the ground. They were strangely quiet and sullen. Mandy and Becca were running from the front porch as I ran towards the heard from a different direction.

“Move! _move_!” I shout as I shove through the crowd of people. The Socs were scrambling back to their cars, making sure they booked it outta here as fast as possible. Smart move on their part, because now, I’m gonna kill all of them. Iggy was laying on the ground, a switch was protruding out of his chest. And if I had learned anything from biology before I dropped out of high school, I’d say that knife was dangerously close to his heart. Becca and Mandy arrived and a sob ripped through Becca’s throat as she knelt next to Iggy, her hand intertwined forcefully with his as she cradled his head in her lap. Blood was sputtering out of Iggy’s mouth as he struggled for a breath.

“He’s not gonna make it man. . .” a greaser next to me whispered to another. 

“Shut the fuck up! He is! Fuck!” I wrap my hands around the blood as best I could to stop the bleeding. Iggy turned to look up at Mandy and Becca.

“You’re gonna be great ‘lil sis. I know it. You’ve always been so independent,” Iggy wheezed as best he could with the blood overflowing in his mouth. “Becca. . . Becca please don’t cry. Take care of our little one, alright? Tell our child daddy loves them. I love you both so much. . .” Iggy whispered, putting a hand against Becca’s stomach.

Becca had tears streaming down her face, before she leaned in to kiss Iggy’s head.

“Shut up Iggy, stop acting like you’re gonna die-“ I snap, pressing harder into the wound. Iggy wrapped his weak, shaking hand around my wrist and squeezed, and I loosened my hands from his wound.  
“I am gonna die Mickey. But just know I am so proud of you. I’ve never been one to believe in any of this Jesus shit, but I hope I’ll get to see you again sometime. Just not too soon all right? Eighty’s the minimum,” Iggy huffed out a laugh, and more blood spluttered from his mouth. His head dropped back down onto the grass, and all of Iggy’s motions stilled. I sat back on my shins, shaking as I looked back down on my hands, red from Iggy’s blood. Mandy and Becca were grasping each other, sobs wracked through their bodies. A few tears gathered in my eyes, but I wasn’t allowed to cry. Not in front of south side’s gangs. Only to preserve the life of Terry’s reputation. A firm hand grasped onto my shoulder, lightly shaking me back to reality. But I could never go back.

“Mickey,” Ian whispered. “Mickey look at me.”

I brought my elbow back and hit what I presume to be Ian’s ribs. I stood up and turned to Ian, who was now on his feet to and was gripping into the side of his ribcage.

“You let him die you fuck!” I shoved at his chest, screaming. Hot tears were rolling down my cheeks now. “You didn’t tell any of us? Was this all a joke to you?!”

“No! No! Of course not-“ Ian stammered, but I kept pushing and shoving at him. Tommy ran up behind me and grabbed my biceps to hold me back, but I couldn’t stop kicking and shouting.

“Get the hell out of here! I don’t ever want to see you again! Get away from us! _You_ killed him!” Tommy and Jamie helped haul me inside, I didn’t see what ended up of Ian after that. The last image I knew of him would be him standing there in complete shock, his white t-shirt printed with numerous bloody hand prints. 

Work was the last place on hell and Earth I wanted to be at, but we were too dirt poor to skip even a second. So I sat there at that god awful baby blue desk, my hand gripped a screwdriver forcefully in my fist as I scraped off chunks of the peeling paint off of the desk and on to the floor. Something the boss, Raymond, would bitch to me about later before just burning the desk all together.

Terry worked at the chop shop too. Not like he was much of an advocate for legally earning some cash, but as the shop doubled for a service to convenience criminals for quick car mods and license plat swaps, we got a lot of good paying drugs runs and things of the like in our time of employment here. And it got his probation officer off his ass for finding a job- so that was always good enough for him. 

Today, he came for the distraction. His eldest son Iggy was dead. And so was my brother. One of my only supporters. I glanced over at Terry through the corner of my eye. He sat on a wooden stool by a black mustang convertible. One owned by a buffer stock full of money, yet still so cheap they’d come all the way to the ghetto. It’s not stereotypical that rich folks like to rip off other rich folk. We just blatantly steal which the man thought he could handle, I guess.

Terry was tapping a wrench on the hood of the brand new, perfectly shined and polished car, that I knew by the state of it was supposed to be returned to the owner today, hence its condition. I knew that polish paint may make your car look tuff as hell, but scratches like a bitch. And with the force of the way he brought his hand up almost a foot above the hood, and slammed it back down, there was gonna be on hell of a couple dents there too. He hadn’t taken the news of Iggy’s death too lightly. 

Mandy made me stand outside the house until my eyes were less red and puffy from crying and my cheeks were dry. It was hard to calm down after what had just happened, and the fact that Mandy was still sobbing in front of me. Terry didn’t care if she cried. Becca was crumbled over Iggy’s body, screaming into the crook of his neck. It was pitch black outside and no one was gathered on the street any longer. No one could call the cops, because chances are, the fuzz would find something to arrest _us_ over instead of the murder that was just committed. And it’s not like street fights are legal.

Tony, Mandy, Becca, and I all had trudged into the house, Terry was already pretty hammered on the couch when Tony had broken the news. That sobered Terry up real quick. At first he sat there, staring dumbfounded at us, and then he chucked his beer bottle against the wall where it had shattered into many shards, beer was sprayed onto the white wall. “Goddamnit!” he roared and shoved out the door. Someone was probably going to die that night. I heard Mandy whisper to Becaa that he wouldn’t be back tonight, that if she wanted, Becca could stay in her room. 

Terry couldn’t be hypocritical. Milkoviches don’t cry, or show weakness, or even admit the need for help. You always had to be strong, and fucking intimidating. Terry couldn’t break his rule. Not even when one of his sons die. Not even when mom died. I found myself holding my breath throughout the entire day, all of my senses were on guard. Because anger was the emotion us Milkoviches often choose to express above anything else. And with Terry, that can get fucking homicidal.

A few hours later, close to around two, I was helping two other lads get a new bumper and wheel on this old hunk of junk and a sorry excuse for a car.

“This thing is a piece of fucking shit,” one of the mechanics scoffed.

“Yea, probably a getaway car. I’d but money they’re bullet holed under that duct tape,” replied the other with a creepy ass soul patch under his lip.

“Yea no shit,” I stand up from being kneeled by the car's side, wiping grease on my overalls. The back door to the warehouse is opened, a man in a firmly pressed business suit with sandy blonde hair and plastic ass looking features strides in with Lucy, the shop’s secretary. She always wore the highest heels with ribbons tied into bows on her ankles. Miniskirts and blouses buttoned so low nothing was left to the imagination were her daily wardrobe to her fucking job at a fucking mechanic. 

“And here is your car Mr. Weston!” she chirped, flaunting her tits and batting her eyelashes to a fifty some year old Ken doll. 

”Why thank you Lucy,” he smiled, his hand slid back behind Lucy’s ass, and gave it a good squeeze before she gasped and giggled. Mr. Weston walked over to the black Mustang, the car that was currently behind the one I was working on. Terry did one hell of a number on the hood with that wrench. And he was still sitting there on the stool, staring blankly. “What that fuck?!” Mr. Weston exclaimed, throwing his hands behind his head. “Did you do this you fucking south side cunt? Not my fault you hate your minimum wage job. It isn’t my problem you’re stuck below the poverty line! It only takes half a fucking brain cell and a complete nimrod to do this fucking job!” He whipped around to look at all of us in the garage, each working on separate cars. “You all better get off your ass and fix my goddamn car for free!” Mr. Weston was screaming now, his arms flailed around in frustration.

And then Mr. Weston took a breath to continue his rant, but what he didn’t know was that it would be his last. Terry shot up, knocking over the stool with a thud, barreling up behind Mr. Weston. One hand grabbed the business man’s shoulder tightly, while the other fisted into the man’s blondish gray hair. Terry whipped the man stuck defenseless in his grasp around to face over the car hood, and he brought the man’s head down onto the metal. Over and over again. A horrible cracking sound and the squealing metal filled the room, followed by Lucy’s terrified screams. Even after Lucy ran into the office to call the police, Terry didn’t stop until the car hood had a bloody crater in the middle, the man’s face was fucking smashed in, blood dripped from every opening in his face. Terry finally let of Mr. Weston, the body lifelessly slumped against the car. Terry was breathing heavily, looking like a feral animal. A wad of sandy blonde hair was clumped in his fist as large bald spot was red and irritated on the man’s skull.

I could hear the police. Their sirens raced at the news of a murder. I stood there, slightly shaking, as I stared at the body wide eyed. This was the first actual body I had come close to. It looked like fucking wax, its eyes still bugged out and expression fixed in horror. Bloody hell.

Police flooded the garage and immediately arrested Terry. And for the first time he didn’t even fight back. He wanted to go to the one place he would always be remembered and feared- the Chicago County Jail. 

Handcuffs were promptly slapped onto Terry’s wrists, and he was carried away. The Coroner came in to take photos of the scene and bag the body before Mr. Weston was carried away. A police officer with a beer gut was paying more attention to a sobbing Lucy’s tits than he was with her witness account. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and took her away. They were both probably aching for it anyway. Raymond dismissed us all from work for the week since we had “made his shop goddamn crime scene”. 

And there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Terry would be found guilty for murder. Murder was a first even for Terry. Well, to be caught that is. It would be a long time before anyone would see anything of Terry Milkovich for a long ass time now. I’m free. After years of tiptoeing around the big raging monster that Terry was, the sudden freedom had me stunned. I walked him in a daze, easily blowing through three cigarettes.

I sat outside in my lawn chair, huddled in a blanket, counting the weeds scattered across the yard like I always did when I was thinking. I heard the screen door to the back of the house squeak open and thud closed again. Light, unsure feet padded across the lawn and Becca sat down in the adjacent lawn chair. I looked over at her, Mandy must have washed her face and removed all of Becca’s makeup, because she no longer had black tear tracks staining her cheeks. I unwound the blanket from around myself and leaned over to lay it across her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, and pulled the blanket tighter. “How are you doing?”

“You shouldn’t be asking me that. I should be asking you that,” I scoff, shaking my head.

“I know. Don’t be fucking difficult Mickey answer the question.”

I smile and shake my head. “I’m doing quite shit lately, thanks.”

There was an awkward moment of silence before Becca spoke again.

“Who was that boy you were yelling at Mickey?” she asked so quietly I almost didn't hear her.

“Nobody. He’s nobody,” I sigh. 

“He wasn't nobody. I saw how emotional you got. You don’t get that way with just anybody Mick.” I was suddenly glad that it was dark out to conceal the reddening of my cheeks. “You know were in the same boat now Mickey.” _boat _? That got my attention. I looked at her and she looked at me, watching my reacting. My eyebrows furrowed together. Becca looked down and put her hand on her stomach, before she regained eye contact with me. “You know how people feel about single mothers. They think were too overbearing. It turns our sons into. . .” she paused to look around and leaned in close to me, “ _homosexuals_ ,” she whispered. She leaned back and smirked. “I’m not an idiot Mickey, I know.”__

__I sit up on the edge of my seat to lean in close to her. “If you tell anyone- you’ll fucking regret it.”_ _

__Becca smiled sadly and leaned back into her chair, interlocking her hands in her lap. “I won’t tell anyone Mickey. Besides, I gave you leverage on me. Society says a single pregnant women needs a man or else my son will ‘turn into a sin against god. A faggot’. Well, even though that’s bullshit, were both in hot water Mickey.”_ _

__I winced at the harsh slur, but she was right. I found myself actually trusting Becca, who’d I’d only met 6 months ago when she first started dating Iggy. “You don’t know if you’ll even have a son.”_ _

__“Doesn't matter, I can’t risk it,” she got up and brushed off her jeans, then she turned around to face me. “I’ll love him anyway though, no matter who he chooses to love,” she smiled and bent over to plant a kiss on my cheek. She unwound the blanket from her shoulders and placed back upon my shoulders. “Go find your man Mickey, I know you love him. So go get him before you lose the love of your life too,” she smiled as a tear slid down her cheek, and she walked back inside the house. I brought my feet up close to me chest and curled back in on myself. I gripped the blanket tighter and pulled it closer around my body. And in the safety of isolation, I allowed myself to imagine that it was Ian who was wrapped around me right now._ _


	11. Run Baby Run

I heard Mandy click across the floor in her heels, scampering around in the rooms at the back of the house before she finally walked out into the living room.

“Where’s my goddamn lipstick!” she rounded the couch, clawing through her small black purse. She stumbled over an empty vodka bottle dumped onto the floor by the coffee table.

“The hell?” she looked at me, sitting in the exact same place on the couch I had been for the past hour. Her shoulders dropped and she huffed out a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Mickey you can’t be serious right now- you’re still moping?” she asked, exasperated.

“I’m not fucking moping around I just got some down time,” I bite back, taking a long swig of beer. I made triple sure it wasn't the fuckin’ Gallagher’s beer. 

“You have barely moved, barely said a word, you yell at anyone who brings up their happiness or he-who-shall-not-be-named. You’re moping,” Mandy replied before she strode off into the kitchen. I twisted around to look at her as she rifled through random trash scattered across the counter.

“I heard you on the phone earlier. You still talking to him?”

Mandy slammed the stack of dishes that were piled high in her arms down into the sink with a crash. She leaned against the edge of the sink, breathing heavily with her shoulders hunched. She turned around and glared at me. “Yea, as a matter of fact I am still talking to him because you pushed him away and spat on him.”

“Because he’s Soc! He was on _their_ side! You know? The people who murdered our brother!”

Mandy strode over to me in precise speed, she stood over me and with those five inch heels, and she towered over me. She jabbed at my chest with her pointer finger as she spoke. “You listen to me right now Mykhailo Milkovich. You are being absolutely pathetic right now. Ian had nothing to do with Iggy’s murder, he doesn't even want to be a goddamn north side narcissistic asshole! But his friends are a load of fucking psychopaths. They won’t let him leave! They kidnap him, beat him up, and now he’s got ‘Soc’ carved into his arm. He has to look at that for life Mickey- for life! He constantly has to be reminded of something he doesn’t want to be a part of because of the scars on his arm. So don’t you _dare_. Don’t you _dare_ give him shit for being a Soc because he knows it! He fuckin’ knows it, he knows it’s dangerous to get involved with us but he still helps in any way he can.” I stood there with my lips slightly parted, paralyzed in complete shock, my words were suddenly useless. She stormed over to our small wooden table to get her coat, which she slung across her arm as she stood in a very sassy pose with her hip out and her arms crossed. And for a split second, she reminded me of mom, scolding us for misbehaving. It made me listen to her. “I don’t want you to ever call him that again,” she said softly, wiping a finger underneath her eye to collect a tear that was threatening to spill over. A tear that would ruin her speech, and her eye makeup. I sharp honk sounded outside, Mandy and I’s heads both turned toward the sound, then back to each other. “Now, I’m going on my date with Tommy. Ian is at Rodger’s house, you remember Rodger, right? You egged his house once in high school? Well, Ian is at his party. Go get your man, Mickey. It’s okay now,” she smiled and spun around on her heel, practically throwing herself into Tommy’s arms as she opened the front door to find him standing out on the porch. And then they were both gone. I looked at my hands, at the vulgar lettering across my fingers. _”it’s okay now,”_ she had said. Any other time I would have been enraged to have anyone talk to me that softly and delicately, I would tell them that they sounded faggy and they should cut it out. But really, it just reminded me of my mom too much and it hurt.  
And it fucking hurt to know what I did to Ian, what his “friends” had done to him, thinking they were doing him a favor. I’ve already lost Iggy, there isn’t very many people I enjoy still around- hell, there were barely any that even enjoyed being around me in the first place. 

My feet began to move on their own, going towards my bedroom, I pulled on some jeans and a dark sweater that’s zipper only went down short way. As I yanked it over my head, I ran my fingers through my rumpled hair to smooth it out. And when I saw myself pass by one of the dark windows in the house, I could almost pass for a north sider. Only problem is, I’ll always be a south side piece of shit. Clad in my nicest sweater, with my hair pushed over to the side and out of my face, I hoped I could pass through a gang of Socs and not get too many odd glances. I was barely able to slip on my black converse before I was out the door and into the dusk.

It was pitch black by the time I had gotten to that prick Rodger’s house. And I immediately recognized it. I had actually went to a north side school when I had gotten suspended form too many south side schools they eventually just kicked me out of the district all together. And because social workers want to make an honest living in helping troubled kids already destined for hell, I was transferred to that prude school where I stuck out like a bad case of syphilis. Rodger and I were immediately at each other’s throats. I would come to his house just to fuck with him, and it was a fuckin’ swell time until his rich ass dad probably paid the principal to suspend me- even if I was a bully outside of school property.

I could see the glowing house and its’ occupants screaming from down the street. The bass of music was so loud I was honest to go surprised the fuzz hadn’t already shown from noise complaints. The front door was wide open, and people were mindlessly wandering about in the front yard, drinking beer and smoking most likely synthetic. I smirked a little eat how easy it was to slip pass the buzzed out garden gnomes and into the chaotic house. It was fucking huge, I had no clue where in the hell I’d find Ian. Some Billy Idol was blasting and the music made the entire house vibrate. 

I started looking around upstairs first since the stairs were right in front of me as I walked into the house. After many awkward walk-ins during the middle of a threesome or couple mid-fuck, I came to the conclusion Ian wasn’t upstairs. I bounded down the stairs and turned into the room to the right of the stair landing, and I wished I would’ve just looked here first. This dude has his own fucking bar?

An actual bar, just like the one I remember from the Alibi, with beer faucets and everything. Even a tall ginger with fiery red hair. Talking to some innocent brown-eyed schmuck that probably went to church every Sunday. My blood began to boil, my hands clenched into fists as Ian laughed and laid his hand on the other guy’s shoulder. I had a quick thought about just walking out and going back home, but I walked all the way here, and Mandy would kick my ass. So I strode over, pushing people out of the way as I made my way over to the couple.

Ian did a double take as I came closer, but he quickly regained himself as he calmly turned towards me.

“Mickey. Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said in a monotone voice, his chin was slightly raised. The gesture was so childish. It looked really fucking dorky.

“Yea, uh, I didn’t either. . .” I trailed off and clanked at the cute boy on a bar stool next to Ian.

“Oh! Mickey, this is Hunter,” Ian smiled and leaned in close to “Hunter”, slinging his arm across his shoulders and bringing him in closer. I crossed my arms, trying to make my displeasure known. “We kinda like each other,” Ian whispered to me, and “Hunter” smiled back up with him with an amazing fucking grin. What the fuck. Ian looked at “Hunter” and moved his lips to give him a subtle kiss through the air.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” I scratch the back of my neck uncomfortably.

“Sure.”

I roll my eyes and huff out an exasperated breath. “ _Alone?_ ”

Ian raised an eyebrow and looked at “Hunter”. “Be right back,” he smiled and got up and started walking somewhere. I turn around and flip off “Hunter”, and that sure as hell felt good. I follow Ian to what I assume is a private room or something. And sure enough, once we finally weave our way through the crowd, Ian comes up to a relatively vacant hallway, minus a few shit-faced stragglers, where he opens a door to a darkened room. From the musty smell and ugly ass paisley bedspread spread across the room’s only bed, I could immediately tell it was a guest room. Although I would have no clue knowing what that would even look like.

“Make it fast. I want to get back to Hunter,” he turned around to face me.

I decide to start the conversation on a light night. “So, is ‘Hunter’ my replacement or some shit?” I smirk.

Ian was unamused. Crossing his arms, he replied: “You can’t replace something that wasn’t even there in the first place.”

My face contorted a little at that comment, and I felt the bite. “Look, Ian, about what I did-“

Ian shook his head and spat, “you know what, Mickey? I don’t want to hear it. I’m done. I’m not going to chase after something I can’t have. I’m sick and tired of going around having mindless fucks. I want to start planning out my life and my future. And if you don’t plan on being in it, then please, get out of my life so I can forget and move on,” he spat venomously.

“It’s not like that anymore Ian. Things are different now.”

“ _Different?_ What fucking changed in twenty-four hours Mick?! No more games,” Ian shouted. “Do you love me?” by the Contours began to play throughout the house, and I almost laughed at the pure irony of it.  
“Gallagher“ I begin, but Ian moved around me and walked towards the door. He was going leave, and I was going have to do something drastic. “Goddamnit Ian!” I exclaimed, the use of his first name stunned Ian enough to turn back toward me. I surged forward and grabbed onto the back of his neck, locking my lips onto his. My lips moved against Ian’s, and he didn’t immediately begin to move his lips against mine. I began to panic, but before I could start fucking hyperventilating, Ian snapped out of his daze and began to kiss me back, weaving his hands through my dark strands and around my head to deepen the kiss. We kissed feverously until I had to come up for air. I rested my forehead against Ian’s, my hands still grasped around his neck, we panted against each other’s mouths.

“No more games,” I huff, my lips brushed against Ian’s as I spoke, and Ian pulled me back into another kiss. Before it could get too far, Ian broke off and firmly grasped my hand within his.  
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“What about ‘Hunter’?” I laughed, my tone filled with sarcasm.

Ian shrugged. “Honestly, I just wanted to make you jealous.”

I smiled and playfully shoved Ian, who chuckled along with me.

Ian and I walked home together, keeping our hands to ourselves by shoving them inside our pockets just in case someone was watching, but we talked the entire way back to my house.  
“You clean up nice,” Ian wiggled his eyebrows.

“Don’t get used to it. I don’t go to Social parties every Saturday night,” I scoff.

“You were really brave. Going to a place like that, confessing your _love_ for me,” Ian joked.

“Fuck off, don’t mean I’m going to wear a dress or anything.”

“No one fucking asked you to,” Ian looked down at me, “you do have really nice legs though.”

“You’re a fucking dick,” I laughed. It was light conversation like that, until we finally reached my dark, vacant house.

“Where is everyone?” Ian asked, looking around. I walked around, flicking on light switches, illuminating the house.

“Mandy’s out on her date with Tommy, my brother Tony is cheating on his side hoe with other side hoes, my other brothers Colin and Jamie are in jail from getting busted for running drugs, my dad’s in jail. Oh yea, and Iggy’s dead. But you already know that,” I recite.

“Jesus, Mick,” Ian walked over and sat on the couch, propping his feet. “You know, I never hear you talk about your parents.”

I walked over and sat next to Ian on the couch, my fingers played with each other in my lap. “My mom committed suicide when I was eight. And my dad’s an abusive prick. He deserves to rot in jail.”  
“Why’s he in jail?”

“For murder.”

Ian sat up with wide eyes, “holy shit. When was this?”

I shrugged, “yesterday,” I reply nonchalantly. I decide that now was a good time to go into why I began pushing Ian away, starting from the day my dad first came back and I yelled at Ian in the front yard.  
“I was just scared, Ian. For both of our lives. But I was fucking stupid and a complete ass for pushing you away. And when Iggy died, I-I shouldn't have assumed you were involved.” I looked up at Ian with most likely a really pathetic face, but I really couldn't care less at this point. All I wanted was for Ian to forgive me. He smiled and caressed the side of my face with his hand, pulling my lips forward to meet his. It started out slow and gentle, but soon grew in speed and desperation. Ian pulled me into his lap and I locked my arms around his neck to try and get closer to him. But it wasn’t close enough. “Bedroom,” I pant and got up off of Ian. He got up and followed me as we both started to yank and strip off our shirts. Ian closed the door to my room behind us and moved forward so we could work away at each other’s belts. Ian removed his pants and boxers in one smooth motion, pushing me back onto my bed to take mine off too. When I sat up and began to turn around onto my hands and knees, Ian stopped me by grasping onto my shoulder. 

“No. I want to be able to see you,” Ian look at me seriously, then shook his head and quickly added, “if it’s okay with you.”

I nod and ease down onto the mattress, my back laying against the bedding. I was kinda tense with this new position, not only was it very intimate in my book but insecurity began to take over my mind at how open and vulnerable I was to Ian. But he was busy kissing and sucking at my neck and chest, even grinding our hard-ons together, the friction making my eyes close in pleasure. My eyes shot back open in surprise as I felt Ian’s mouth lock onto my inner thigh, his mutilated forearm was bright red and angry where it laid next to my left hip. I reached over and gently tugged on Ian’s wrist, urging his arm up. Ian lifted his head up with furrowed brows full of curiosity, but allowed me to bring his forearm up to my mouth. I gently peppered the scarring skin with kisses, using my tongue to trace each letter, feeling the uneven texture of the damaged skin. Ian let out a content sigh and leaned over to replace his forearm from being pressed up against my lips with his own. He began to kiss down the side of my chin, down to my jaw, and over my neck, ghosting over the scar just below my right ear from where Rodger had cut me the first time Ian and I met. I felt his tongue ghost over the marred flesh and a moan slipped out from my lips.  
“Lube and condoms . . . are in the . . . nightstand drawer,” I groaned. Ian smiled and dislodged his lips to lean over and grab the small tube from the nightstand. He popped open the cap and rubbed the substance between his fingers to warm it up before he inserted a finger into my ass. I gripped onto his shoulders and moaned as he then put in another finger, and then another. . .

“Ian, come on,” I complained. 

“So impatient. My bossy bottom,” Ian sighed as he ripped open a condom with his teeth and rolled it onto himself. I playfully smacked him in the back of the head and he gave me a shit eating grin as he rubbed the back of his head. Once he slicked himself up and began to push into me, I grabbed at the short hairs at the nape of his neck until he bottomed out. Ian gave me a moment to adjust to the feeling before he pulled out almost all the way before he thrust back in, and he eventually gathered a quick pace. We crashed our lips together and swallowed each other’s groans as Ian thrusted into me and I began to push back on to him. Ian suddenly pulled out and I let out a soft whimper at the emptiness. But Ian defiantly wasn’t done. He brought my legs up to rest on his shoulders and pushed back into me. He leaned forward to place a chaste kiss to my lips, practically bending me in half. He began to pound into me as our lips broke apart, and the new angle made Ian push at my prostate with every thrust and left me a moaning, vocal mess. Ian was grinning evilly and was obviously very satisfied in what he was doing to me. I came after just a few hits to a sensitive spot inside me. My orgasm caused my ass to compress and spasm around Ian’s dick, and the sensation caused him to come with a groan. He rolled over to lay down next to me as his arms gave out, and we were both left a dirty, panting mess. 

After a few split moments of catching our breaths, we decided to get cleaned up with a hot shower- and commence round two.


	12. Heat on the Streets

When I woke up, laying peacefully beside Mickey, I had a wave of panic rush over me. What if this was just a dream? Or some sick illusion? I was spooning him from behind, one arm was wrapped around his stomach will the other was draped over him, and our fingers were interlocked. I begin to trace imaginary shapes and patterns on his stomach and felt his even breathing. I planted soft, feathery kisses across his shoulder. Hell yes this is real. This is fucking _real_.   
Mickey began to groan and shift in his sleep until he eventually stirred awake.

“Fuck, man, it’s way too hot outside for you to be bear hugging me,” Mickey whined sleepily, trying to clumsily push my arms, his movements were very uncoordinated due to just arising from sleep, which was probably the only reason I wasn’t shoved off the bed.

“Yea, you’re sweaty as hell,” I smirk, kissing down his neck.

“Fuck off, you are to. I’m going take a shower,” he rips himself away from my embrace to head towards the bathroom. He rests his hand against the door frame and looks behind him, back into the room and directly at me. He smirks mischievously. “Wanna join?”

That was all I need to hear before I was jumping off the bed, ripping Mickey’s shirt of before he even had time to shut the bathroom door. We got stripped down in practically a second, making out naked against the sink as we waited for the shower to warm up. Well, get to a lukewarm temperature at least. Hot water’s scarce. I lathered soap into both of our hair as Mickey began washing my shoulders, my chest, my stomach. . .

I stare quizzically at his soapy hands now groping at my dick. With a raised eyebrow, I ask “is my dick really that dirty?” The wash had turned into a hand job. I leaned my head back against the cold shower tiles and let out a couple of low moans.   
“I guess so. You’d better get that dirty thing in me,” Mickey smirked and turned around, folding his arms against the shower tiles. He rested his forehead in his forearms and slightly stuck his ass out.

“Wow, Mick. Didn’t take you for an exhibitionist,” I chuckle, admiring the view.

“Ok, Gallagher, I tried fuckin’ dirty talk and you still come back with these dumb ass remarks. God you’re like an underpaid comedian on Sunday nights,” he threw the comment over his shoulder and stuck his ass out a little more. I bit my tongue to choke back hysterical laughter and pressed my body up against Mickey’s back as I kissed his cheek. Using some of the water, I slicked his entrance up and pushed in, staying at a comfortable pace as I fucked Mickey up against the shower glass.

We reemerged for breakfast a few moments a later. Mandy was standing in the kitchen with her back turned away from us. She was humming silently to herself as she cooked some toast over the stove.

“My god Mick, about damn time you woke up-“she was caught off guard as I yawned and stretched out my back beside Mickey. “Holy shit, no fuckin’ way.” She spun around to slam the pan back on the stove, squealing and giving Mickey a hug her famous bear hug. “I knew you’d do it!” she said excitedly into his ear. He gently began to pry her limbs off of himself and pushed her back a foot.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Believe it or not, I’m a big boy who can make his own fuckin’ choices,” Mickey rolled his eyes.

“Hell yeah I believe it,” I smirked and playfully smacked his ass as I walked toward the wooden kitchen table. I pulled out two chairs and sat down on one, patting the seat beside me and smiling up at Mickey.

“You are such a fucking dork,” he tried to hide his grin by suddenly becoming interested in his plate’s various cracks and absent chunks of porcelain as he took a seat beside me. Soon, Mandy served us up some toast and eggs, and we all had breakfast contently. Like a happy, dysfunctional family. Mandy pretty much gushed about how amazing and dreamy Tommy is, and he much of a gentleman he was on their date. She began to ramble on, but I was happy just hearing that she finally found a man to treat her like a princess. I slid my hand up and down Mickey inner thigh, making him gasp and choke as he ate, and I marveled at the sounds.

“Shit. I guess I ‘outta get going before Fiona has my ass,” I announce while I stand up from my chair. Mandy yelled “see you later, Ian!” over her shoulder as she washed our dirty dishes in the sink. Mickey walked me over to the door, but before opening it, I wrapped my arm around his waist to pull him in and kiss him. It was quite the sloppy morning kiss but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I just wanted to taste Mickey.

“See 'ya,” Mickey smirked and I smiled back, opening up the front door. I walked back to north side this morning with on extra kick in my step.

The entire Gallagher clan was huddled onto the couch when I walked through the door, everyone seemed to lean into the TV, completely mesmerized.  
“Hey Ian, how was Rodger’s?” she asked, not even glancing away from the screen.

“Um, fine . . .” I trail off as I go around the back of the couch to see what they were watching. A random news channel was on full blast, the town’s Mayor, Erik West, was getting interviewed.

 _“. . . Black people having freedom is unconstitutional. It has specifically stated that blacks are slaves! I strongly advocate that the Civil War was a complete waste in time and money. What did it really accomplish? Were still all racist here in the south. And homosexuals go against the Bible’s set beliefs. They are sinners against our lord! Of course there will be absolutely no toleration for this kind of rebellious form of nonsense.” Mayor West looked straight into the camera, and I couldn’t help myself but to cringe in disgust. “These behaviors are producing a negative out lash against our town, our citizens, and our children. These acts are not tolerated, and you can mark my words, such actions will be punished. But you see, Judy dear, help will be available for such folks with wayward minds to have a sense of order through Jesus Christ . . .”_ The TV blared loudly.

Lip scoffed, “How the hell can Judy Turner be able to stand within a fuckin’ mile of this piece of shit. Just to interview him.”

“Honestly,” Debbie replied, tsking and shaking her head.

“Since when do you guys even watch the news in the first place?” I ask.

Fiona twisted around in her seat on the sofa to look at me. “You remember the Little Rock Nine case?”

“Shit, how could I forget? They had some guts I’ll give ‘em that.”

Fiona nodded and continued, “When they attended class at an all-white school, which was pretty much the first time anyone has really done anything like that. Hell, before no one dared to try to speak up and say that this discrimination isn’t right. But then something like the Little Rock Nine pops up, and you got Martin Luther speaking up for black’s rights, it creates a sort of . . . common goal.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And?”

“ _And_ people are pissed. You’ve got multiple controversial issues and two split sides. There’s been lots of riots. Someone was fucking killed last night, Ian,” Lip interjected.

“Holy shit. Who? At a riot?”

“A gay guy. Someone smashed his skull in with a sharpened medal pipe. It was quite obviously pre-meditated,” Lip replied softly. All of the color drained from my face and my fingertips grew cold. The phone began to rattle loudly in its holder, making us all startle and jump in our places. After I gathered my senses, I volunteered to answer it.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m already standing,” I explained, trying to brush off everyone’s objections. I walk over and snatch the shaking device off of the wall. “Hello?” I ask into the speaker, I nervously ran my free hand through my hair and my hands began to shake with anxiety.

“Ian! Aha! I was calling for you anyway,” a crackling voice came from the line. If I wasn’t freaking the fuck out prior to the call, I sure as shit am now. I could recognize that cocky and manipulative voice at the end of the line anywhere.


	13. Safety In Cowardice

“What the fuck do you want?” I growled. There was some buzzing and a sharp whoosh of air like someone was being hushed, and then Rodger’s laughter was back over the line.

“Always managing to woo me, huh Ian?” he chuckles. I glance back at my family, still leaning in towards the TV screen, all while quietly murmuring to each other. I scoot in closer the wall, trying to remain more silenced and hidden provided by the corner.  
“Rodger, I swear to God you listen to me right now. I’m done. Okay? You get that through your thick skull. I’m done! Stop talking me and stop following me around or I’ll get the cops involved!” I tried my best to seem intimidating, but Rodger knew as well as I do that the police couldn’t really give a rat’s ass about south side. There was complete radio silence on the other end of the line. I leaned my forehead against the wall and ran my hand through my hair anxiously.

“No. You listen to _me_ right now faggot-“

“ _excuse me?_ ” I hiss into the phone, taken aback. How in the hell does he know? I swore I was so careful I could have just as well been tiptoeing around a live bomb.

“Don’t interrupt me fag! You have no place you worthless sin of a person! Should’ve known you were the son of the devil.”

I laugh manically and rub a hand forcefully over my face. “That’s an awfully kind compliment coming from a sadistic son of bitch such as yourself, Rodger.”

“How’s Mickey doin’?”

My face paled, and the phone began to slip out of my lax fingers. Rodger always knew exactly where to hit. “You leave the Milkoviches and my family alone. I am not above beating your ass senseless.”

“You know what, now that I think of it, his house was the one straight across form us. From the fight? Oh, yes, it was the one with the two real pretty broads sitting on the porch. You should’ve been more careful Ian. You know what they do to blacks, to gays, to anyone who would not benefit our race’s overall outlook. Why this is simply natural selection, Ian! Maybe Hitler had the right idea all along-“

I didn’t hear what else he spouted. I couldn’t hear another word. With the phone still dangling from its’ cord, I raced out of the front door as fast as I could. I heard my family call my name but I was too fast. I had to be fast. Rodger could have been standing over Mickey with a bat right now, waiting crack his skull in. The image made me stomach lurch, I almost had to stop and hurl all over the pavement, but it was also the best, most intense motivation for me to keep sprinting. 

Mickey could probably handle himself, and I’m just jumping to the worst fucking possibilities. But I couldn’t help myself. I think I fucking loved him. 

I ran all the way to south side, my legs burned and my muscles felt as if they were liquefying, but the adrenaline wouldn’t allow me to stop. 

I bounded up the wooden stairs and banged on Mickey’s door as hard as I could. I bounced on the balls of my feet to let out some of my energy. My heart was racing, because I swear if Mickey didn’t answer the door in the next thirty seconds I’d bust the damn thing down.

“Ian, what the fuck?” Mickey squinted up at me, the glaring summer sun was shining behind me happily, despite the situation.

“Mickey! Oh God,” I wheezed, I ran my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, and over his head frantically, checking for any injuries. “Shit. Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine. Can you stop?” Mickey grunted, trying to pry my hands off of his chest where they poked and prodded for any breaks in his ribcage. “Jesus what’s gotten into you?”

I pushed him inside and slammed the door closed, attacking Mickey’s lips with my own. I felt his hands against my chest, gently pushing me away at first as though he didn’t want the kiss to end, but pushing with more fervor a moment later. “Come on, man. What the hell’s going on?”

“We have to leave.”

Mickey’s head moved back sharply in surprise, his eyebrows were practically in his hairline. “What?” he speaks quietly.

“It’s not safe for either of us to be around either of our houses, Rodger knows where we are and. . .” I sighed and cover my forehead with my hand. “And I’m afraid he could hurt you, or Mandy, or anybody from our families. Rodger is not above murder.”

Mickey hung his head, drawing his eyebrows together, thinking. He chewed on his bottom lip as he looked around the house, as if he was taking one last mental picture of it.

“Okay. I’ll go pack some shit. Just- just go tell Mandy the plan. She’s in her room,” Mickey agreed and walked off into his room to pack. I followed him down the hallway until I turned towards Mandy’s closed door just a bit further down from Mickey’s room. I knocked gently on her door and waited. 

“Come in,” her bright voice was muffled by the wood of the door. I eased open the door and saw Mandy and another girl sitting together on her bed, both looking up at me expectantly. 

“Mandy. . . Mickey and I need to leave. We won’t go too far- I promise. It’s just that we need to stay somewhere hidden and safe.”

Mandy stood up and stood real close to me, her hands were firmly placed on her hips. “You outta explain yourself right now, Gallagher.”

I nodded, and told her about the phone call with Rodger. “And it’s not like homosexuals are exactly welcomed with opened arms around here. Look, I’ll give you our address. It won’t be for too long anyway, just until all this crap blows over.”

Mandy nodded and looked down at her feet. “Well, I guess it is for the best anyway.”

“Where were you two planning to go?” the girl asked.

“Maybe a secret anti-segregation network or a sympathizer brothel,” I shrugged.

“Can I come?”

“Well, it defiantly ain’t gonna be a five star hotel I can tell you that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Becca, what are you doing?” Mandy looked at Becca now who was still sitting on the edge of Mandy’s bed.

“My bump is starting to show. Soon I won’t be able to hide it anymore and they’ll either make me give it away or for me to marry some shithead I don’t love. That’s not the life I want to live, and if I have to run like a fucking coward to avoid it, I will.” I made a face at her implication of calling us a coward, and she looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that you’re being smart by staying hidden, and if it keeps the ones you love safe- then fuck bravery. And you’re willing to do just that. I admire that in a person.”

I awkwardly rub the back of my neck and mutter a small “thanks.”

Just then, Mickey appears in the door frame with a black duffel back slung over his shoulder. Mandy gave him a curt nod. “Becca is coming with you. Just give me a call if you guys need anything. I’ll be more than happy to oblige to a little sneaking around in the night at the law’s expense,” she grinned.


	14. Family Matters

Mickey and I helped Becca, well, mainly did most of the heavy lifting, to pack up all her things. Which, surprisingly fit into only three small, beat up boxes. I didn’t mind the hard work though, and I knew Mickey didn’t either. We had I common issue, so it wasn’t just empathy I felt for her- it was _sympathy_. Because I knew exactly what it felt like to be faced with menacing, influential government authority who threaten to take your family away? And I had insisted she shouldn’t be bending over and picking up heavy objects- even if she was only in the beginning her second trimester of the pregnancy.

I huffed, hefting the last box into the back of the Milkoviches’ blue Ford Falcon. Which, Mickey had informed me was the reward of a successful grand theft auto courtesy of a certain Tony Milkovich. Not the priciest vehicle, or the most jaw dropping, but hell I’d take it any day. 

“I still don’t know where the fuck were gonna go,” I sighed, brushing my throbbing hands onto my jeans.

“No, no! You stop right there, Ian. I want to help, and I’m going to help search for a place. I said I would, did I not?” Mandy crossed her arms in the middle of the driveway. I smiled sadly, and nodded my head in agreement.

“Yea, Mands. You did. Thank you.”

Mandy beamed and triumphantly waltzed down the driveway, beginning to walk down the side walk.

“Where the hell are you going?” I called after her.

“To fulfill my promise, assface!” she shouted over her shoulder. Becca came out with a garbage bag full of what I presume to be her clothes since we wouldn’t allow her to pick up anything heavier. She threw it into the trunk as I slammed the hood closed, the fake license plate rattling violently.

“This is it,” she breathed.

“You sure? It’s not much. . .”

“Well, it’s not exactly like I was fully moved in with Iggy until. . .” she trailed off, staring into the hood. Then she had looked up at me so suddenly I had jumped. “Thanks for not, you know, leaving me behind or brushing me off. It really helps to be with people in the same situation who I actually know. I’ve never been so alone before. . .” she stared at her hands. 

It had been a short time since I had known Becca, but it felt as though she was an old friend in some rough times. I stepped forward and gathered her hands into mine, looking into her scared, brown eyes.

“We’ll all be fine. You’ll be fine. Little Jimmy in there will be fine,” Becca giggled a bit. “I don’t leave family behind.”

“You barely know me! Fuck you for being so nice. Now I’m crying,” she laughed and I release her hands so she could wipe a stray tear that fell down her cheek.

“I know you enough,” I say softly, “You’ve been a good friend to Mandy; Mickey can actually stand you. That makes you damn well family in my book,” I say as I begin to back up into the house to let Becca collect herself. She smiled in appreciation and gave me a small wave, and I mimicked the action.

I step up the Milkovich house’s creaky wooden steps, entering into the musty building thanks to the classic Chicago heatwave choking us all in its’ clutches. There was some distant clunking sounds coming from Mickey’s room. I curiously walk up to his door and ease it open, witnessing him clawing through his drawers and spontaneously throwing random clothing articles into the garbage back by his feet.

“I’m such a fucking hoarder. I did I ever live in any of this shit? Can’t even mind a single goddamn matching sock. . .” I muttered angrily into the depths of his sock drawer. God, the time it took for me to run all the way down here must’ve given me some time to actually process what my own outrageous thoughts were. Everyone around me is in such an emotional scramble.

I walk up to Mickey and hook my arms around his stomach, trailing slow kisses up to his neck. He sighed and dropped the sock he was holding in a death grip back into the drawer. He tensed at first, still surprised by our new kissing regimen, but he would always snap back a moment later, realizing that Terry was in jail, and would lean in to my kisses.

“This is such bullshit. Why the fuck do _we_ have to pick up and leave just because we like dick?” he muttered.

I choked a bit and began chuckling into his shoulder, kissing his cheek and moving away from him. Mickey bent down and pulled open the very bottom drawer, falling to his knees as though he was about to pray at an altar. He pulled a relatively new moving box from the wall closer to his side. I peered over his shoulder at what was in the drawer. Just some random magazines, which he threw aside, some discarded clothing, which was also added to the growing junk pile in the middle of his room. And last, a thick woven blanket, which was pulled aside to reveal Mickey’s secret book collection. They were all stacked so neatly and carefully, and he had defiantly made sure to hide them properly. He reached in and started gently stacking them inside the moving box.

“Holy shit. Where the fuck did you get all of these?” I whisper in awe.

“Stole ‘em,” he shrugged. “They were my fucking escape when Terry was here. I treated them like my own goddamn kids. Now they just look like stacks of old paper,” he stopped packing them and sat back on his shins, staring at the books. 

“Pack them,” I interject, moving over to kneel next to him and gingerly move them to the box. “They help you escape, and you’ll sure as hell be needing it for now on. And it’ll help pass the time.”

“Yea, but won’t we be fucking the entire time,” Mickey replied with a sly smile. I grin back at him and finish packing. There wasn’t a whole lot, fourteen books at most. But the literature Mickey had possessed was at a level so much higher than south side- I couldn’t help but be impressed.

I shrug, “well, maybe just to pass the time in between rounds.” I stand up and Mickey follows suit. “I got to go back to my place. Tell Fiona what we’re doing. And to pack. Call my place if you guys need to reach me. Mandy has the number.”

Mickey nodded and quickly began shoving his junk pile into random places in his room like a little kid trying to quickly clean his room so he could finally go outside and play. 

When I got back to the Gallagher house and strode in, Fiona was not-so-happily pacing back and forth in the kitchen furiously.

“Okay what the fuck happened to ‘yes, Fiona, you’ll be the first to know where and when I’ll be randomly taking off out the fucking door,” she shouted.

“Fiona, I swear to God it was an emergency.”

“Since when the fuck had dicking around with Rodger been an emergency. You’d better hope I don’t kick his little ass next time I see him-“

“Fiona, I’m leaving,” I blurt out. The entire family was huddled around Fiona and I, and all they’re eyes widened in shock.

“What?” she gasped. “W-where? Why!”

“It’s not safe for Mickey and I anymore-“

“Wait. Whoa, whoa, back up. Did I just hear you say _Mickey >_? As is in the fucking Milkovich?” Lip chimed in.

“Yes, as in the fucking Milkovich. Screw you Lip if you’ve got a problem,” Lip raised his hands in mock surrender. “And I don’t know where the fuck were going to go yet. I just know I’m not telling you guys. I’ll come by time and time again, I not severing myself from my family.”

Fiona’s eyes were downcast and she dragged me into a tight embrace. “I understand where you’re coming from. Shit, at this point I don’t think Liam will ever go to fucking school because in kindergarten willing to take a black kid. So be safe Ian. Go take care of yourself.”

“Thanks, Fi.”

“And stop talking to Rodger. He’s a psychotic fucking prick,” Lip scolded.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, “ _no shit_ ” I grit out between my teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies about the late upload, I had school work up to my ass this past week. Hope you enjoyed though, unfortunately this story is nearing its' end!


	15. The Alibi

Fiona accepted my decision with little or no hesitation, she trusted me. Lip gave a couple of eye rolls, and threw on a pouty face, but eventually he too came around. The little kids, well, they were indifferent to my leaving, sad, but indifferent. I immediately ran upstairs to pack. Although I yanked had open one of my drawers and gripped a few shirts in my hands, I found myself stumped. I had not a clue how long we would be gone, where we would go, or what I would need. I trusted Mandy to find us a half decent hide-out location, but, she was still Mandy. And Mandy hadn’t really made the best life choices or known the finer things in life. Neither had Mickey. And I wanted to show them so badly how beautiful life could be without the grimy layer of shit coating it.

“Fuck it,” I muttered and just ended up throwing practically my entire drawer of shirts into a huge duffel bag. Not even bothering to fold them to look presentable. I hated running away, this was cowardly. I felt like Anne Frank, and god forbid any of us meet an ending as gruesome as hers. I shoved the heels of my hands to mash down all the clothing garments, which really were only t-shirt and jeans, and the bare necessities. The rest Mandy would have to sneak over to us.

I jogged down the stairs with the duffel bag slung over my shoulder, and I hated the fact that the entire Gallagher clan were gathered at the landing with concerned and longing eyes. It made me feel like shit ditching them.

“I’ll miss you, Ian,” Debbie’s eyes were glassy and a sniffle she was suppressing had escaped.

“Oh, Debs,” I walked over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “This won’t be the last you see of me.”

“I know. . .” she wiped her eyes, “still.”

Fiona gave the biggest, brightest big sister smiles and enveloped me into a suffocating bear hug.

“I’ll see you later Fi,” I smiled and rub her back. I can feel her head nod in understanding and she pulls away. I turned around towards the back door only to be encountered by Lip.

“Come ‘ere, man,” he walked forward and gave me a hug, harshly slapping my back when we pulled away. It was really a bittersweet moment for all of us, I’m finally leaving this childhood home of mine to go off and be an independent person, even if it isn’t the most positive of circumstances, and Fiona has on less person to be in concern of keeping alive. 

“Goodbye, everyone. I’ll see all of you soon,” I smile and wave, as I finally pushed through the back door I had been slowly inching through as my family and I said our goodbyes. I needed to get back to my other family.

I sprinted as quickly as humanly possible with the duffel back weighing down heavily on my shoulder. And after having to stop multiple times huffing and wheezing at the side of the road, the Milkovich house appeared back in focus. Andy was standing in the middle of the driveway talking to Mickey. His eyebrows were sharply raised unintentionally in show of how much he was intently listening.

“Oh! Ian!” Mandy acknowledged me after my footsteps thundered towards her on the road. She began to run up and greet me with a hug, and started to persistently jump up and down on the balls of her feet in excitement. “I found it! The Alibi is a sympathizer. The co-owner agreed to take you guys in.” 

Mandy grinned and puffed out her chest a bit in pride. “Thanks Mands,” I smile and kiss her cheek before I walk over and shove my duffel bag into the trunk of our vehicle. “Ready to go?” I ask, peering over the metal of the open trunk. Mickey nodded his head silently and I raised an eyebrow at his lack of words. Mickey always had something to say. However, I decided to ignore it for now and just get the fuck out of here.

“Becca is in the house, I can go get her,” Mandy yelled back and totted to the front of the house, slipping in through the front door. “And I’ll drive!” she adds, poking her out of the front door before closing the gap. I join Mickey in the backseat of the car, and he’s still eerily silent. Currently, he’s picking at his cuticles and his fingernails are bitten down to stubs, and yet he’s still bringing his pointer finger up in between his teeth for more.

“Hey, hey,” I interject and gently pull his hand away from his mouth, bringing both his hands into mine. “Come on, Mick, what’s up?” I ask softly. He shakes his head and stares out the window at the stationary outside scenery. I open my mouth to speak but just then Mandy comes barging into the car with Becca following close behind. Mandy cranks the key, once, twice, then three times before the care finally hums to life. She pulls out of the driveway, illegally carpooling us since she hadn’t even received her license yet. But who’s going to tell?

Mandy and Becca were chatting up a storm in the driver and shotgun seat, but Mickey and I were silent. His shoulders were slumped and he leaned his head against the window, watching as cars, trees, and buildings swept by. Sure as shit I’m bringing this up once were alone.

Mandy eventually pulls up inside an old alley way adjacent to a classic old time bar. It looked smashed in between to other random buildings belonging to people or companies, I wasn’t too sure. There were no signs or anything. The rich burgundy building’s only way of titling itself was the peeling wooden sign the clearly stated “The Alibi”.

We all got out of the car onto the dirty pavement below begrudgingly. I almost felt claustrophobic between the two brick buildings settled beside each other’s graffitied walls. Mandy popped open the trunk and we all filled our arms with bags of living necessities.

“Ok, this way through the back,” Mandy pointed, her arm quivering as she fought the weight on her arm. We followed her deeper into the alleyway, behind The Alibi. A tall, very muscular man come soon into view standing near the steps to an old wrought iron fire escape. He nonchalantly introduced himself as “Kevin” before his eyes began to widen as big as the moon.

“No shit. Ian? Damn, in the flesh! I hadn’t seen you since you were dorky and this tall,” he indicated a very short height off the ground with an open palm.

“Holy fuck! Kev? I remember you now man,” I grinned and Kevin nodded in my direction. “How’s V?”

“Beautiful as ever,” he replied dreamily. “Okay, enough of my shit, let’s get you guys settled in.”

Kevin ascended up the fire escape to an abandoned living quarters where the Alibi used to be a small daytime hotel. He explained that if we ever needed to leave, we were required to go through the fire escape and walk straight behind the alleyway, only coming into view a few blocks away. And it was forbidden to show our faces to the bar.

“Just precautions to protect the other patrons,” he clarified. He unlocked a heavy metal door with a key, and we continued to follow him down a brightly lit hallway filled with doors. The musty smell wafting form the walls was obvious enough to me that this place had been vacant for a while.

“Alright. You little lady will be in room A302. Ian, you and your boyfriend will be right across-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. How’d you know-“

Everyone in the hallway looked over at Mandy, who was blushing and rubbing the toe of her shoe against the carpet uncomfortably.

“I just think you guys are cute is all.” She replied quietly, then looked up and seemed to gain a bit of confidence. “What? You’re my two boys! Can’t I brag?”

Kevin snickered and unlocked Becca’s room, and gave her the key. Then he walked the short distance over to Mickey and I’s room and unlocked it for us, handing me the key. Mickey rolled his eyes and walked straight in, and I waved goodbye to Mandy as she headed into Becca’s room to help her unpack. 

Mickey and I unpacked our own bags into the room inside an awkward silence. “Make sure to leave some clothes in your bag in case we need to make a fast escape,” I advised casually, but Mickey stopped what he was doing and his shoulders visibly sink. I could practically feel the waves of sadness off of him. I softened my face and walked over to where he was standing, taking the bag that was currently in his grip and placed it on the floor. It was difficult, for he was holding it in a death hold do tight his knuckles were turning white.

“Okay, Mickey, were talking. Sit down,” I placed myself on the edge of the queen bed, patting the spot next to me. He sighed and trudged over, throwing himself down with a huff. He twisted his hands in his lap as I waited for him to speak up.

“It’s not fucking fair. What did we ever do to them?” He muttered. “Them” was very vague, but I knew exactly who he was referring to. “I don’t like it here Ian. I want to live where I grew up, I don’t want to have an emergency bag, because than I know things have the possibility of going to shit. I wanted-“ He laughed and thumbed at his bottom lip. “I wanted to fucking move in with you.” He mumbled the last sentence under his breath.

I smiled, and shrugged a shoulder, playfully bumping it into his, “Well, here we are. Moved in together.”

“Fucking hell, Ian. Never like this.” His words lacked any bite whatsoever, just disappointment and defeat.

“Hey,” I caress his face gently with my hands and look straight into his crystal blue irises. “This is only temporary. We _will_ get out of this shithole, and we’ll find a place of our own. We’ll be happy. Promise.” And I closed the distance between us, kissing Mickey’s lips tenderly. It was far from our usual aggressive make out sessions. I felt I had to tell him so many promises with just when connection of our lips. And god forbid it all goes to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be either one or two chapters left ;)!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be updated on Saturdays, and I'll try to post as soon as possible on that day for you guys to enjoy! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated, and feel free to say hi on my tumblr, alxmariejackles. ♥


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